


Standing at the Edge

by Orthodoxia



Series: The Shape of Khaos [1]
Category: Tyranny (Video Game)
Genre: + magic, Bronze Age Morality, Bureaucracy, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gen, Introspection, Power Dynamics, Pre-Canon, Teacher-Student Relationship, Way Too Much Introspection, questionable relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-05-02 13:50:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19200157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orthodoxia/pseuds/Orthodoxia
Summary: After a lengthy conquest, Fatebinder Ponirya has only just returned to Bastard city. She had not expected to be tasked with a new duty quite so soon. It turned out to be one of those days.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: English is not my native language, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

*

_"We are a relatively young order, though we have spanned these past two centuries. While the Voices of Nerat and Graven Ashe need armies to execute their will, Tunon wields but a modest court of vassals. We exist as the extension of his law. There is no place in all of Terratus beyond our judgment." – Fatebinder of War, Nunoval_

*

Sounds.

Echoes.

Whispers.

Small noises that filled the little corners in the vast silence of infinite corridors.

Of all the things she remembered from her infamous childhood, it was the sounds that had stuck in her mind the most. The heavy grinding of raising stairs, stone against stone, as their ancient mechanism came to life-giving access to the upper levels. She remembered the way footsteps would echo so clearly among the walls. always leaving them heavy with uncertainty if the hunters coming for them were just around the corner or if they were five corridors, three floors, and several  twists and turns away

And the Bane…

Oh, she especially remembered those. Wisps, small and slow, were silent, but the Scourge was not, and if there was a Wisp around, the Scourge and Malice were not far behind. They would claw their way against the stone walls, letting out inhuman screeches as they patrolled the corridors in packs. The only sound more prominent than that was that of a human unfortunate enough to be cornered by them. From the small nooks and crevices she could fit in at the time, she had watched it happen enough times to numb her to the sight.

She had singlehandedly contributed to the death of more men than any child ought to.

There was fear, always, but it had become like second nature – an accompanying emotion in their lives. Screams coming from those foolish enough to enter the Oldwalls unprepared, were a warning, a signal to press on with caution, but it did not stop her family from doing what they did. It didn’t stop her from enjoying it. She remembered running through those corridors, up those stairs, checking which banesnare was safe and which was close to a breaking point… She had learned much in those early years of her life, things not even a kid raised on the street could learn – and through her parents’ ‘entrepreneurship’ she had met more than a few and she could brag that none of those other eight-year-olds could successfully lure away a Scourge.

She remembered being very proud of that fact.

She was a moron.

What she knew – what she was so proud of knowing, didn’t help anyone in the end. Not even herself.

And, as if reinforcing that fact, mocking her of her silly youthful exuberance and pride, her memory took a turn – for the darker times.

This time, it wasn’t the intruders threatening her family who died by her hand.

This time, she was the Bane in the story.

She remembered it clearly: keeping to the shadows, hunting down and eliminating the leaders of the Bastard City, of its nobility and their families – one by one. None escaped. Blotches of dust and lifeblood covered her mind’s eye in vivid, horrifying impediment, trickled a river of crimson misery across the floor, the sound of open wounds and escaping organs and emptying veins a living nightmare in her memory…

The city was bleeding from the inside. She had made sure of it.

*

Ponirya’s eyes slowly opened. She was facing the narrow windows and the pale, brightening line of dawn was like a tightrope across the horizon. Almost unwittingly, her eyes darted over to shadows in her room and she cursed in her pillow.

 _‘...fucking reflexes...’_ Taking a deep breath, she unfurrowed from her spot on the bed and slowly sat up, blinking away the not-really-sleep from her eyes. Being back in Bastard city… no wonder she was remembering that particular time of her life, so of course, her mind couldn’t focus on happier memories no matter how much she tried to. Wrinkling her nose she felt for a dagger under her pillow. It was such a poor and uncomfortable hiding spot, but until she made some adjustments to the room it’ll have to do.

Her chambers – the small room given to her, and others of Tunon’s Court – once tiny barracks were now used by fatebinders instead of clerks who used to run a large and incomprehensible (and also incapable) merchant administration. That is to say, they counted rings, tithes, and other offerings. It would be redundant to say that a lot of what went through here, ended in their pockets.

Small wonder that Tunon was so well-liked among the people of the City

Cracking her neck and making her joints pop, in an attempt to release some of the pressure (it was almost like her body couldn’t believe she was sleeping in an actual bed), she sluggishly looked around, her eyes immediately falling to the note left on her nightstand the previous night. Ponirya could not help but glare at the square piece of parchment.

She was expected in the Archives. No delays. No excuses.

 _‘...better get to it...’_ she thought sullenly, knowing she should get on with her morning routine.

In between washing and getting dressed her eyes kept being drawn to the window and what little of the Oldwalls she could see from where she was. It was clear enough morning and she never got tired of looking at them. No one knew who created and shaped these ancient structures any more than they know who built the Spires. The recorded history of the world simply did not reach back that far. Or the records were burned. That was known to happen.

Below, she could see clearly the east side of the city slowly waking up. The frontlines were a nightmare in itself, but it looked like these three years were not kind to the new capital of Tiers either. Sinkholes remained to this day, but life was rebuilt around it, and the Court was still filled with petitioners who lost all they had during Conquest. Not that Tunon would ever return what they believe they were owed. If anyone was allowed to amass wealth, it was the Archons and their favorites.

The Bastard city stood on the northern border between Kyros' Empire and the Tiers. Built upon the crossroads between realms, the city was a melting pot of cultures and a nexus of commerce and intrigue. To the Tiers, it was the hub of all wealth. To a northerner, it was little more than a backwater trading post, but its symbolic status as a gateway to the rest of the continent made it a natural first target in Kyros' military conquest.

In the years following the conquest, Tunon seemed to have become so genuinely respected by the citizens (and feared), that there was no need for armed forces within the city walls. Each district was provided with a judge and nine soldiers to enforce the law, but out of respect for Tunon, most people reached their own resolutions without involving the authorities. But the fact that petitioners were still lining up meant that Tunon had yet to drain that swamp completely, and in turn, that only spoke not only how stretched his resources were since the start of the Conquest, but also how stubborn the people of the Tiers were.

Too stubborn, as the time showed.

*

Ponirya made her way down to the training grounds. Resting in bed, between four walls, a secure door and with no army insight was an experience she had to acclimate to. The note did say ‘no delays’, but a quick exercise was part of every fatebinder’s morning routine. How else were they expected to stay in the proper shape necessary to deal with lawbreakers?

The training grounds were a refurbished ballroom (Tunon had no need for those) with an opening leading into the gardens, some of which were cleared out to make room for all the equipment archery or sigils practice required. Ponirya was surprised to find the place largely… empty. Aside from a few adults, older fatebinders she guessed, there were almost no novices to speak of. Only a handful of children. Was the recruitment in Tiers that poor, or was no one requisitioned from the North? And if so – why?

Fortunately, the first face to see but none other than her old mentor. Nunoval was keeping himself busy by training a handful of retainers. That was almost a pitiful number compared to one in her youth, and she was aware that many would not live through the first two years of their life here. Surviving Court’s schooling and initiation were not easier than surviving that of, say, Scarlet Chorus. Both were brutal and culled the weak, but they did so in different ways.

“Keep your spine straight and balance evenly spread between both feet! Both for attack and evasion you need to be able to move your body in a split of a moment! Alexis! Are your ears made of wet clay, boy?!”

“I’m glad to see that your drill sergeant routine is still going strong,” Ponirya called out, approaching him from behind. There was no intention on her part to be stealthy and he likely had noticed her at the doors. With massive arms across his chest and incredibly bright smile, he turned to face her.

A keen, brash, and a hearty braggart with a fondness for bloodshed and thus, a perfect choice for the Fatebinder of War. Appearances were so easily deceiving. According to his peers, the jovial Nunoval dispensed fair justice, but tended toward rather exacting and uncompromising punishments at times, as she had an opportunity to witness during the times he had taken her to the Disfavored camps in her early field missions. She had seen more bloodied and mangled bodies on her trips with him than she ever did during her time under Bleden Mark. Nunoval was good with just about anything that would let him end the life of another human. The Conquest of Tiers suited his temperament.

There were good lessons all around, but those ‘field trips’ were not a memory she liked to dive into. For reasons lingering more heavily on her mind than the sheer brutality, she had witnessed. Still, he was one of the few teachers she was fond of.

“Ponirya! You obnoxious brat! Finally decided to show your face, eh!” He clapped her on the shoulder and grabbed her wrist in a firm grip. Nunoval was easygoing, sociable, and rather chatty. Not something one would expect from the Fatebinder of War.

“Really? Three years later and I’m still considered a brat?” She chuckled rubbing her hand.

“That’s the part you take issue with?”

“You say obnoxious, still, all I hear is relentless.”

Realizing that they were becoming the center of attention, Nunoval quickly instructed the few children present to continue with their training, and the two of them watched the novices spar and go through stances. It brought back a lot of memories. None of which needed to be dragged into the light of the day.

“Come, tell me! I’m eager to hear how the war effort down south was!” Oddly, Nunoval’s voice was not as loud as he could be when taking notice of things, demanding explanations or just being himself in general. Maybe he didn’t want the children to overhear and start asking questions…

Still, she wondered what would be the best way to answer that kind of question.

Those were the three years of her life that involved nothing but battles and attempts to find solutions that didn’t end with blighting the land (which didn’t always work) or extinguishing entire villages (which worked even less). She had to learn to balance between the demands of Disfavored and the voracity of Scarlet Chorus, trying to persuade the ever-inflexible Graven Ashe and outsmart the Voices of Nerat. Coupled with all that were incessant field courts and decisions, a number of which she later had come to regret, and not because of how it affected the war effort…

Quite the opposite…

Ponirya shrugged it all off. “Wine was so-so. If it was actually wine and not hog urine… which they used to fill all of the empty bottles with when no one was looking.”

“Figures.” His lips twisted knowingly, but then again that was to be expected. Being who he was, he knew exactly what she wasn’t telling him, but that didn’t mean he was going to let her evade the question fully. His persistent stare told her as much.

“It was my first war ever, so I’ve got nothing to compare it to, really.”

“You survived. So it either wasn’t that bad as you make it out to be, or you’ve actually learned to stop and think through all the evidence before delivering the final judgment.”

“Is that coming from you? The objectively most bloody-handed person in the Court.”

“Watch that tongue. I know someone would object to that.”

“Huh? I could’ve sworn I said ‘person’…”

“I spoke too soon. War didn’t do so much as put a dent in your thickheaded arrogance.”

“Say what you will but we won, so I suspect I did something right.” She saw him roll his eyes and shake his head slightly as if he was praying to the Overlord for patience. It was pretty much given that her elders and seniors were taking bets for years now on when her flippant attitude was going to get her killed. So far, her tongue was getting her out of trouble just as much as it was getting her into.

She should probably join the betting pool. The amount of rings she’d win…

“When did you return? Was it immediately after dooming an entire region to a perpetual storm?” Turnabout was a fair-play in the Court and so the younger fatebinder readily turned the questioning around.

“After wrapping up with Stalwart, yes. With the Edict going strong there was little else for me to do than pick up a few loose ends and head back. You, on the other hand, took your sweet time.”

“What’s there to say? I took a scenic route.” Which was demonstrably true, and as Vellum Citadel has been steadily burning for almost a year now, she may have taken a long way around to return to the Court. Under his steely gaze, she offered a more detailed explanation. “Chorus is never so clear-cut. I had more than just a ‘few loose ends’ to deal with. More territorial disputes between the two armies than you can shake your pointy stick at-...”

“All of which Rhogalus will be very happy to have in written testimony, I’m sure.”

“Yes. I did notice that some unfortunate soul has left me a note about a small mountain of paperwork in my tiny corner of the scribing room. Waiting for me. Can you imagine?”

“That wouldn’t be the one you never catch up with? I was looking for reports on Disfavored movements after the Edict of Fire, and couldn’t find any.”

“Slander and lies!” Ponirya gasped, all shades offended, and Nunoval chuckled. Ponirya’s dedication to abusing the archives for her nightly reading, but less so to writing down her cases, has become horrendously comical by this point. “I’ve sent missives,” she insisted, stepping around him and in the direction of the training floor, and the older fatebinder, raising one bushy brow, nodded ironically in mock understanding.

“I’ve read them. A lot of words and very little meaning behind them. Rhogalus was both furious and secretly proud, I’m sure.”

“One can’t really fault the student for their teacher’s methods,” Ponirya hummed and studiously kept her eyes averted to the shining marble floor of the former ballroom, and further across to novices going through a basic routine.

“Well since you’re here, are you up for some sparring?”

“I don’t know. Do you plan to drag it out? Seeing how you too are keen on those ‘reports’…”

He laughed, deep, and shook his head. “I didn’t mean myself, as enjoyable as whooping your ass would be-...”

He was interrupted by a snort, then a cough. “Sorry. …go on.”

Nunoval shot her a mild glare under his thick, bushy eyebrows, even as she tried to throw on at least a little bit of an apologetic facade.

Although… Sparring with someone who would not tear through her muscles or crack her bones in several places to make a point? Or use grievously unfair advantage through experience, power and clearly _not being human_ anymore? Ponirya wasn’t opposed to the idea, at all. She was very much tempted. And as she wasn’t above avoiding her duties like that, it would be as good of an excuse not to be stuck in the records room the entire day. It was why she'd come down here in the first place.

“I thought you might be interested in helping a fellow fatebinder to get back on her feet.” And before she could reply he called out to the older girl, gesturing for her to approach them. It was someone Ponirya hadn’t seen in a long time and certainly had not expected to be her sparring partner. Her eyes were immediately drawn to what she held in her left hand, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Iphigenia?”

Of average height and round in all the right places, with big brown eyes and curly hair, Iphigenia was a couple, or more, of years her senior. Due to her memory skills being similar to that of Rhogalus, had apprenticed with the old coot from an early age. She was never really much of a field agent, and, by the looks of her, it hadn’t changed. Not that she didn’t have the skill – all fatebinders (save for herself) were required to go through both martial and magical training – but Iphigenia’s talents were better used elsewhere. She couldn’t be over her mid to late-twenties, but there was haggard, tired look to her that aged her up. As if she was recovering from a long, but still lingering illness.

The last time she had seen the archivist apprentice was back in the Northern Empire before she was assigned to paving the path for the first wave of Overlord’s armies that would clash with the enemy at the Gates of Judgment. A lot must have happened in the meantime.

“I’ve heard you’ve returned,” her voice was reserved.

“I didn’t think that would be newsworthy information.”

“You took long enough that some have thought that you might have joined the resent insurrection.”

“Rumor mill is still going on strong. Good to know.” Ponirya didn’t need to go through the list of names to know whose fault that was. _‘Thank you Calio.’_

“Even before the Conquest, yes.” She paused, seeming to go through her choice of words carefully. “I’ve heard you were working closely with the Scarlet Chorus in the past three years.”

“I like to think I’ve been impartial to the best of my abilities. Though they are far… so very _far_ from perfect, the Chorus did prove to be more of use to the Empire in the long run.”

“In which way? If you don’t mind me asking,” Iphigenia perked up at this, her attention solely focused on the younger fatebinder. To Ponirya this felt more like an interrogation, than simple chitchat.

“Well, the way Chorus operates is, more or less,” Ponirya gestured with a wave at the average height children were usually at when they crossed to ‘official’ adulthood. “…you have to be this tall to die.”

Looking momentarily offended, Iphigenia’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “That is not funny.”

“No. But it is the hard truth of the matter.” Ponirya glanced over to Nunoval. “I know your affinity for the Disfavored, but salting the earth isn’t really going to help us when the caravans from the north are so few. We need food, and the fields won’t plow themselves.” She was still amazed that it was Graven Ashe who was in favor of diplomacy during the onslaught on the lands of Apex.

There was an awkward silence and Iphigenia looked to be considering something with a slight frown. She had asked this question and there was more to the reason than mere small talk. She opened her mouth, presumably to ask something else but Nunoval cut her short.

“Now that you two have reacquainted – how about that sparring match? What do you say, girl?” He looked at the mage, “Are you willing to test yourself after all the training in the past spans?”

“I am not opposed to it, but…” Ponirya started, her eyes followed down to the other woman’s hands and she gestured at the Iphigenia’s weapon of choice. A short sword. “With that?”

“Do you believe me untrained in martial combat?” There was a hard edge to Iphigenia’s voice. Cold, like iron. It was clear that Ponirya had insulted the woman, but she had no idea how or why or when.

“I’m just saying that some of us are more trained than others,” Ponirya replied quietly. “This could be a fight you’ll lose.”

“Not unlike you’re about to lose consciousness.”

Ponirya blinked. That was… wholly unexpected retort coming from a usually quiet mage. But that still posed the question: Why swords? Not that mages couldn’t make use of them, but Iphigenia was a master sigils caster, second only to Rhogalus. She could easily wipe the floor with her if she wasn’t careful.

“That’s enough!” Nunoval’s gruff voice slammed onto them with all the force of a master instructor. It was as if they were trainees under him once more. “Get into the training sands, if this is to go anywhere.”

They walked over to the sand-covered circle, one of several that were dug as an addition to the grand chamber, and stood opposite to each other and with swords in their hands – two in Ponirya’s case. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on. Something she had little information about, and she hated lacking tools to work with. Fortunately, a sparring match could be equally informative.

Iphigenia, for her part, looked at the younger fatebinder, who stood casually, swords pointed to the ground.

Ponirya cocked her head slightly. “Well?”

It wasn’t intended as one but maybe the mage took that as a taunt, and Iphigenia decided to try and surprise her with her strength. As it had been years since she had faced Ponirya in the arena, she took a couple of cautious steps forward, but the other didn’t react, staying relaxed.

Iphigenia charged forward, looking for any indication she’d bring up his defenses, but she still hadn’t reacted. Remembering Ponirya was right-handed, she decided to come in from her left. She lunged and swung, waiting to feel that sword come up to parry, only it never did. Her eyes widened when she met no resistance, however, soon she’d realized Ponirya hadn’t moved to block at all because she’d moved backward.

Iphigenia tried to reverse her swing, but she’d put too much into it, she had too much momentum. She moved back to retreat but found a sword at her throat.

She would be dead now, was her first thought, but as Ponirya’s eyes were focusing on her with odd detachment she realized. No, she _was_ dead.

 Frustrated, she backed off and tried again. She came in as she had before, but she was careful not to over-commit this time. When Ponirya stepped back again as he had before, she stepped forward as well, keeping pace with her. However, this time her sword was met with resistance, her left sword had caught hers, just above the hilt; her blow came to a complete halt. She found her right sword at her throat.

Again, dead.

 Iphigenia huffed and took a couple of steps back. Charging wasn’t working, and she refused to use the sigils. It was time for a different approach. She decided to try a flurry of blows, growing in strength. She came in high and from her right. Ponirya knocked it aside with her left blade, bouncing it off hers and coming for her throat. Without hesitating, she repositioned her blade, coming in horizontally from the same direction. Ponirya’s left sword left her throat and knocked her blowdown and past her, while her right came across just a hair in front of her front.

Disemboweled, and…

Iphigenia reversed her strike, making a diagonal attack, rising towards his chest. Ponirya’s right sword was there to meet it though, its trajectory altered ever so slightly to catch her swing perfectly, while her other sword came to her throat.

“Three rounds down and still running back for more,” Ponirya muttered.

The mage glanced down at the sword at her throat. With that second blade, she would never be able to break through the younger woman’s defenses. As if sensing her thoughts, Ponirya stepped back and planted her left blade into the sand. Then she turned to face her.

She was giving her a chance. It was infuriating.

Iphigenia came in fast and strong, and Ponirya’s sword was there to meet hers. She dipped her sword under hers and then reversed, coming in from the other direction, but again the younger fatebinder’s sword was there, waiting. It was always waiting. Frustrated, Iphigenia pulled back her sword and thrust it at her. Ponirya swung her left foot back, turning sideways as her sword went past her, and then she brought her right and down and chopped her wrist, loosening her grip. In a split second, Ponirya’s sword was at her throat.

For the fifth time during a single match.

“Is this necessary?” Iphigenia asked, angry and embarrassed.

“If you intend to use it, then yes,” Ponirya answered, her voice as serious as it rarely was.

“So you say. Am I to expect such blatant swindling on the field as well?”

“I’m… what now…?” Ponirya was utterly baffled. Where did this come from? If the Court was supposed to be akin to a family, then some fucked up things were going on in her absence.

“That is enough. You are skilled enough to hold out against a Chorus member-”

“-not with the swords she isn’t,” Ponirya let out a sing-song-like whisper from behind Nunoval only he could hear, and that earned her a mere reprimanding glare, and only because he was currently focusing on the mage.

“-but fatebinder Ponirya is a trained assassin. ‘Blatant swindling’ is part of the course.”

Now, Ponirya didn’t like being called an ‘assassin’. For one – she wasn’t an assassin in any official capacity, and she certainly didn’t think of herself as one. She was just… very, very good at killing people. A bit of a longer reach, a looser leash, was the only way that worked in her favor. And two – there was no ‘swindling’ whatsoever involved in this match.

Why didn’t Iphigenia use sigils?

“You’re right, Nunoval. The massacre of Bastard city proved that much. As your long-time mentor, Bleden Mark must’ve been proud of your accomplishments.” Her eyes locked with Ponirya’s, and her voice was saccharine sweet but all Ponirya could feel was rush of blood in her ears, her confusion instantly being replaced by swelling rage.

Her skill and tactics of infiltration placed her in the Bastard City ahead of the main armies and her work softened the city defenses for the arrival of Kyros' forces, but she was in need of a decisive gesture that would give her allies a meaningful advantage. With two armies deep into their squabbling right out of the gates, as it were, Kyros knew she was hard-pressed into finding a solution.

So, she did what she was trained to do. And she had executed her task beautifully.

Some deaths were quiet and unnoticed, while others were gruesome beyond words. As a wave of murder overtook the city's elite, her deeds swelled in infamy. Well before the armies arrived, no one in the Bastard City felt safe in their homes – much less behind their walls. By the time Kyros' forces appeared on the horizon, the city was fearful enough to throw open the gates and welcome their new protectors.

That week of her life… it was something she had done willingly. There was no escaping the reality of the choice she had made; no going back on it; no burying it in the pits of her soul; no avoiding and running away from it for the rest of her life… but she’d be damned if she would allow another member of the Court to point the finger at her – not when all of them were tasked with either committing atrocities in Overlord’s name or dropping dead where they stood.

“Does that mean you’re yet to do something noteworthy in the Archives that would have Rhogalus be proud of you?” Ponirya’s voice was quiet, flat, and full of intent to hurt. She tried hard to hold herself to a higher standard, but right now...

“I do not have your kill count, that’s true. But I did hear that your recent rulings have been oddly lenient. Perhaps even in favor of the rebels. There is no proof of course, but it is enough to make one wonder if it is atonement you seek through your liberal interpretation of the law?”

Ponirya stiffened defensively, her gaze dropping all warmth and her heart stuttering. Her fingers itched to reach for the wires in her bracers. Mark would have killed the woman by now. It was fortunate for Iphigenia that despite all the years, the seed of his temperament didn’t manage to take hold in her.

“That is defamation, and it is too serious of a matter to be settled in a training hall. Perhaps we should go through proper channels to sort out the truth from falsehood. But regardless of the outcome, I’m sure that in your grace you will be willing to teach me the proper procedure of handling starving peasants, _should_ you ever leave the safety of the Court’s playground,” Ponirya insisted as evenly as she could manage, trying her hardest to still the tremors that were still wracking her body in the wake of her fleeting temper.

A bead of sweat rolled down the mage’s neck, possibly in a delayed reaction to all the stress, and she shuffled back another step, struggling to regain her grasp on the situation and her role desperately.

“ _Enough!_ ” Directed at both of them, Nunoval’s voice roared, startling even the few other people present who have stopped to stare at the spectacle. His large, muscular form loomed over both of them, but his focus was on Iphigenia. “That braggart brat is not wrong. Accusations are being recklessly thrown around and that can easily become courtroom business. As you will be leaving for Cacophony in two days, you will have the chance to prove Ponirya wrong. In the meantime, I suggest you better see to finalizing any of your unfinished cases.”

With a stiff motion, the archivist mage bowed and stormed away.

Ponirya could only stare after her for several silent moments. The wheels turned in her head and she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“What was that all about?!” Turning towards Nunoval sharply, Ponirya gestured with the sword still in her hand at the figure now gone. “Why is Iphigenia even active?”

Nunoval merely shrugged off the tone of her voice in a way that dismissed this whole spectacle, looking over at large door Iphigenia disappeared through. “She’s a highly skilled member of the Court. Is there any reason she shouldn’t be?”

“Sixth failed pregnancy comes to mind.”

He dragged his fingers across his stubble thoughtfully. “You’ve heard of that.”

“Was it supposed to be a secret?” It wasn’t a joke when she named the Court’s rumor mill as one of the most potent in the Empire.

“Not really, and I’m glad for that. It would have been a mess if you’d reached for your stashed weapons.”

He had noticed that? She must have been careless. Or more visibly disturbed than she expected. She had nearly let it slip too many times. Truthfully, she had been away from the Court for too long if she allowed others to read her reactions so clearly.

“Women often have trouble surviving carrying a single child to term. A failed one… several failed ones...” Sufficed to say, it was a miracle Iphigenia was still alive. “He’s pushing her too much.”

“At this point, I’d say it’s more on her.” Nunoval knew something, but he wasn’t about to divulge further.

But it did make her pause. Maybe he had a point, and Ponirya simply didn’t think of it. Maybe Iphigenia _was_ trying to validate all she had gone through. Or maybe she just wanted that child to fill the part of her that the Court had bitten out.

The Court… to all who were part of it, part of Kyros’ ruling structure and mechanisms, it truly did give in abundance – from perspective to opportunity and access to education knowledge, placing them all far ahead of the rest of the population. But it also took – with reckless abandon, like an insatiable beast. Stripping them piece by piece, until it was too late and they were left holding fragments of themselves, wondering if it was all worth it. Living to ripe old age and retiring – very few fatebinders were successful, resilient and clever enough to reach that dream. And even then…

“I will point out that it was she who asked to be put back on active duty, and was scrutinized for the possibilities of impaired judgment before being sent on the field. With the war over, there will be need for more of us to deal with day to day disputes as Kyros’ law takes hold across Tiers.”

Ponirya’s head snapped towards Nunoval.

“Impaired-… She’s an archivist. Her work on the field – in those rare moments when archivists are in the field – involves cataloging forbidden lore.”

“And is her judgment not important for that? Deciding what is allowed and what should be purged is an insignificant task, in your opinion? I hope that is not what you’re trying to say.”

“And I didn’t say that,” because, more often than not, all the forbidden tomes ended up with them. Or shipped north to Kyros’ personal library. There actually was a list among the archivists that dictated what was to be destroyed and what was to be sent to the capital of the Empire for more ‘detailed examination’. “I didn’t say that exactly.”

Nunoval snorted or maybe it was a stifled short, gruff laugh.

“She’s to be stationed with the Chorus, then?” Ponirya watched him nod. That would explain her line of questioning earlier. Disfavored burned everything they could find, but Chorus liked to keep things. Even things they shouldn’t. Especially things they shouldn’t. It wasn’t the most glamorous of positions an aspiring fatebinder could hope for, but she’ll adapt.

Or die. Dying was always an option in Kyros’ service.

And who knows? From the looks of things, it might end up being a good thing for her.

Returning to weapon racks, Ponirya was still deep in thought. Not about Iphigenia, as she didn’t think the woman truly hated her (she could smell that kind of thing, by now). It was frustration. No member of the Court had an easy life, and Iphigenia’s continued relationship with Rhogalus and their attempt to have a child with their combined talents… Not that circumstances justified the slew of things she had said with full intent to hurt her – but that was some internal matter between couple of Court members that was spilling over into everyone else’s business.

No, what she was more curious about was her post and why it was happening. There was probably some ongoing hunt for the Sages if the Chorus needed a fatebinder specialized in forbidden lore. None of that, however, explained her abject refusal to use her highly adept magical skills. Sure, Nerat was well known for ‘eating’ mages, but he wouldn’t touch one of Tunon’s. Not without some previously enacted and purposefully placed convoluted shenanigans that would allow him to do so.

So. Not only does her family situation appear to be rotten, but she is also about to be stationed with the Voices as well… Stopping next to the weapon stands, where the small clay bowl filled with water was, Ponirya nodded to herself. Yes, she could clearly see where all that frustration was coming from, but she still didn’t think that was all there was.

Ponirya dragged the wet rag across her neck, trying to freshen up at least a little before leaving the training area. Scribing rooms and archives were stuffy enough without the smell of sweat adding to it.

“I take it you have heard of the events in Vendrien’s Well?” Nunoval joined her and his voice cut through her thoughts, changing the subject as his massive frame turned about. Or, not changing it that much. Redirecting it. They were still talking about the war. He straightened a spear on the stand, muttering how said student would need reminding on how to treat weaponry. That usually meant punishment.

Poor kid.

Ponirya nodded absently. At this point, who hasn’t? Like a juicy piece of delectable meat, the recent insurgence seemed to be the only thing on everyone’s tongue, and she’d heard tales of it even as she was traversing back to Bastard city. One rumor, for instance, had it that as of recently, Kyros' forces have transformed the valley into a full garrison to ward off insurgents desperate to leave the Well – the once military arm of Apex, the Queen's Royal Army of Vendrien, a standing force composed of infantry contributed by the noble houses. As the Tiers peninsula was no stranger to constant infighting between the city-states, those nobles weren’t just playing dress-up with shiny armor. The part about how Graven Ashe and Voices of Nerat were stuck in a rut, especially, was the one most talked about. It was also, the most likely part of the tale to be completely true.

Considering she was the one to broker peace in the first place, Ponirya wondered if the current state of conquest going absolutely nowhere will be blamed on her as well. It was one of the reasons she had taken her time, least she’d end up being sent back to clean up the mess in Apex. It was certainly enough for Iphigenia to lean into rumors of active sabotage and collusion on her part. All of which were entirely fabricated.

“The whole thing is a bit like asking what’s behind Tunon’s mask. The tale changes depending on who’s telling it,” she spun around slowly, her expression an image of dedicated innocence. “For example, miss Raz said she’d heard from a construction worker on the second floor – the ones working on the gallery – that-”

“You’d best not finish that thought girl,” he snorted, raising his large hand to stop her from completing what was probably a very convoluted, crude and untrue ‘rumor’, and she heard him mutter something that sounded like ‘cheeky brat’ under his breath. It had turned out quite a silly moment with him holding back his laughter, but the point was made.

And it had released the tension for a bit. Though the matter at hand remained, still.

The situation, as it stood now, was that the Disfavored and the Scarlet Chorus now controlled the lands – although ‘control’ rarely equated with ‘capably running’. Which was probably the very reason why all of this was happening right now. The oathbreakers’ will was not yet extinguished, not entirely, and as the Vendrien Guard’s insurgency begun, the Scarlet Chorus and Disfavored descended upon the former Kingdom of Apex. Both of their main armies were spread across the Tiers and were now redeployed to Vendrien’s Well to crush the resistance.

Tiers has lost this war years ago – this was little more than the last gasp of a dying people. And yet, even dying, the Tiersmen still managed to cause more trouble for Kyros’ Empire. Everyone in the realm knew something was going terribly wrong when months passed with no definitive battle.

“Things are threatening to boil over,” he continued as she remained silent.

“Are they? Are they really?” One pale eyebrow arched as she leaned towards her old mentor. “It’s hardly the first time Ashe and Nerat are stalling the campaign with their… _disagreements_ on how to handle the enemy.” Or handle anything else, really.

“Ponirya, I expect better than such a lackluster assessment of situation from one of Court’s finest,” His tone was teasing, but it was also that of probing for whatever insight she might have of the situation.

“It’s less incriminating than saying that they’re ‘actively sabotaging each other’. That would be a serious accusation, and one no self-respecting fatebinder would dare to make,” she admitted mournfully, wiping at the back of her neck with her hand. “I’m one of ‘Court’s finest’? Really?”

He should’ve known better than to say that. Nunoval let out a sigh as well, rolling his eyes, and with an exaggerated wink and a wave of his hand dismissed her teasing remark.

“They’ve probably left enough evidence for any self-respecting fatebinder to back those ‘completely fictitious accusations’ up,” he assured her, reaching over to clap a hand to her shoulder, and Ponirya looked back at him skeptically before nodding slowly, a real smile pulling at her lips. Most fatebinders involved in the war were keenly aware of how very much Nerat and Ashe did not get along, and of how bad idea it was to set them on the same goal with the expectation to cooperate. He smoothed his beard. “Still, last time we were in the middle of the campaign. The end of it all, it should have come and gone by now.”

Ponirya looked away. Somehow, an end to the war was hard to imagine. During the days of her growing up in the Northern Empire, she had repeatedly witnessed troupes and agents of the Court being in a constant state of movement. The wording of Kyros’ Peace was always civil and inviting, but the underlying social contract was that the Overlord was in an active state of war with all who have not accepted Kyros’ Peace.

She did not know – hadn’t read in her studies, even – of the time when the war machinery of Kyros’ Empire rested.

And now, as disagreement and discord paralyzed the Archons, the oathbreakers were doing their best to bide their time and wait for their message of insurrection to spread across the Tiers. Well, they should be satisfied to know that it was heard, loud and clear… but not by the audience they were so keen on.

There is no possible scenario where the Overlord will allow this small chunk of land to ruin the almost complete dominion over Terratus.

*

With her satchel hanging over her shoulder, Ponirya made her way down the renovated corridors, now thoroughly covered with Kyros’ and Tunon’s – significantly smaller, she noted – insignia everywhere. It was all lavishly carved in stone, weaved in tapestries or painted on walls. Almost to a point of being excessive, and obnoxious. Like they all didn’t already know to whom their lives belonged to.

She almost missed how the palace used to look like, three years ago when she was stalking these very same corridors for her targets among local nobility. She groaned. Iphigenia didn’t bring up those memories, but she sure has made them more acute.

It was around one of the newer, recently refurbished corners and all too many stairs that the palace runner, a young boy of maybe ten-eleven years old and with an almost comically stern face (was she ever this young?), came up to her. It surprised her. She wasn’t back long enough, nor has she done anything noteworthy for anyone to be looking for her just yet.

“Ponirya Metis Areia.” The page didn’t even bow, just exclaimed the words with exact pronunciation and uttermost purpose, and she felt chills go down her spine because the only time her full name was ever being used was for-…

“Summons from the Adjudicator.”

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: English is not my native language, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

 *

_Kyros’ laws are numerous, and it is the duty of Fatebinders to interpret them in their judgments. Some laws are absolute, some are contradictory, and some are both absolute and contradictory._

*

Well, here she was once more.

Alone. With Tunon.

Early morning made it seem like the day was going to be interesting, or at least productive in some way, and then it had to spiral downwards and out of control. First Iphigenia, and now... _this_.

She didn’t have to look up to know that he was towering over her, but when she did raise her head, she was relieved to see that his presence wasn’t taking up the entirety of the space. It was less oppressive and so, felt moderately bearable. Maybe because unlike the courtroom, his chosen office lacked that practical sky-high ceiling and therefore didn’t allow for his full height and spread of what he was.

Simple robes, coarse and plain, dark and gray, and in such a stark contrast to the ivory mask. Shadows surrounded his form, merging with it. There was no clear way of telling where his robes ended and the shadows begun.

At least this room didn’t have a hole in the ground with a mass of shadows crawling out of it. It’s surprising how much that pit added to the overall dread he could already induce through mere presence. Not that the Archon of Justice needed props to do his job for him. He commanded the attention of the entire room with his presence alone, holding his conversation partners hostage with his personality and knowing gaze.

She waited for him to speak, but for the longest time he stood behind the massive desk, lined with missives and reports – all stacked and neatly settled through a cataloguing system only he was familiar with. Not a trace of chaos was allowed.

This brought back memories. Each official audience did that to her.

The time when she first appeared before the Archon of Justice, seemed incredibly distant. She was depressed, frightened, angry and well aware of the fact that the fate of her family could easily befall her. She was eight, or maybe nine, when she joined the Court, plucked from the cell for the crimes of being born in the wrong place, on the wrong side of the border and for the crimes of her family’s smuggling operations through the Oldwalls. Some would say, and did say, that she should be grateful to Tunon for her survival. Where her family faced the execution, for her shared crime would have undoubtedly led to her death.

She had defended herself, as best as a child could or maybe better than a child should. Young smugglers had to learn early what to say and how to say it. She remembered how it was a difficult job to manage, with the way he had watched her. It was… unsettling, undoing her from the seams as she scrambled to hold herself together. Did he know he was doing that? Was it on purpose? Or was he always just this intense without realizing? Was it something all Archons could do?

She had no idea… and had never gotten any clear answers from him, despite her prodding in the years to come.

Although not without suffering consequences (after all, for every criminal there was a suitable punishment), she had survived the trial, and later passed the training. Read through and learned the essence of each of the long volumes describing Kyros’ world, as seen through Kyros’ eyes and everyone’s place in it as decreed by Kyros. She had learned to understand the intricacies and subtleties of the letter and the spirit of the law – because the two rarely went hand in hand.

That was to say – she had done extremely well at the Court Academy, first in her classes and later on in the field. As Nunoval had said earlier, ‘one of Court’s finest’ – though none would say it out loud.

None of that changed the fact that out of all the fatebinders, out of the entire Court, Ponirya had to be the one with the highest record of summons to private audience. Except maybe Calio – but the Fatebinder of Balance was there to report her extensive findings on irregularities and potential treachery, not to have her judgment repeatedly questioned. It happened so often, she should really be used to it by now. Even so, Ponirya didn’t think she had done anything to deserve summons so soon upon her return.

So the real matter at hand was, what did she do to displease him this time? What happened earlier this morning in the training grounds was too trivial of a matter for an Archon to even take notice of. It was too trivial matter for even Nunoval to bother with, as he had shown. Unless, he too gave in to the notion that she was somehow aiding the enemy…? Impossible! There was not enough credence in the Tiers to support that kind of drivel.

Waiting for him to speak, with hands crossed behind her back, she must have picked the same piece of lint from her slacks three times now, trying to distract herself from her surroundings and their implications, but was supremely unsuccessful, her nitpicking and fussing doing nothing but sharpening her senses. She could almost feel the Archon before her watching her, his stare heavy and unmoving and interested from beneath the ivory mask.

Her pale eyes were drawn to the gavel, held firmly in his hand, and taller than the Archon himself. After the Gates of Judgment, he had used it to wipe out half the city's population in a brutal judgment that turned half the city's districts into crime-infested rubble.

It got better. He had a whole court of people whose job was to fix what he and Kyros broke on the way south. She had to bite the inside of her cheek. This was not a good time for private jokes and unaccounted grins.

“The case of,” a pause, “‘Runaway amphorae.” A combination of the Archon’s slow, methodical and inhuman voice echoing around her and ridiculous words which made out the name of the case, made Ponirya pause at first, her mind screeching to a halt.

Ah. Well…

She should’ve seen this coming. Such relief knowing she wasn’t the one responsible for naming that particular file. And who event sent that report? Was it Althea? It had to be Althea. She was the only other fatebinder at the scene.

“Explain your choice of actions and the conclusions that led you to them.”

Her mind settling comfortably into that courtroom state, Ponirya straightened her shoulders, inhaling through her nose.

“As you wish, Your Honour. While travelling through the lands of Haven I was asked, in my capacity as a fatebinder, to oversee the disentanglement of a murder incident. Further investigation provided evidence for looting, also intermingled with war profiteering. By the end of my inquiry, I have successfully brought the culprits to justice.”

Another pause as he considered her words.

“That is debatable.” Ivory mask scanned a parchment in his hand. From where she was standing she could see it was heavy with ink. That could only mean that Althea’s writing of reports was akin to that of someone writing a novel.

_‘…for fuc-…’_ Still maintaining that blank stare, Ponirya allowed a tiny shrug. “May I be bold enough to presume that the report my fellow fatebinder passed on got needlessly convoluted some two-thirds down?”

His mask tilted slowly – a clear sign she got a reaction. Maybe she shouldn’t be that flippant with him, but it has been going on for years – one just had to look through their correspondence over missives. Not that it was too hard acting dismissive when she was three broken kingdoms away. At times she did worry that she might finally overstep, but she also couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t stop buckling under the yoke placed upon her. There was little else she could do this openly, though, considering the cold iron that would be pressed against her throat the moment she truly stepped out of line.

“The way it reads, it is not _merely convoluted_ , nor does it start _two-thirds down_ – it is a mess of threads right from the moment you’ve set foot in the village.”

Alright. So, there might have been a chase sequence. And a cleverly stashed body. And some catacombs being used as a vine cellar, _as well as_ for smuggling arms – with not just a safe down there, but a fucking vault (she’d be curious to know when they managed to build that). And maybe three or four red herrings pertaining to a local mortician and embalmer... and there was something going on with that well in the village square that she still hadn’t been able to figure out...

...and then there was that creepy statue...

She blamed the lack of time to conduct a _proper_ investigation.

She had to admit that he wasn’t entirely wrong, but the case was more or less a tavern brawl coupled with a murder mystery. Typical wartime stuff she had seen many times by now. Life of a fatebinder wasn’t all that exciting and not every case would end up being an adventurous romp.

Except for that artefact predating Kyros’ Empire...

…of which she had made sure Althea knew nothing about. The girl was well-read certainly, and she wasn’t belittling her fellow fatebinder, but she couldn’t spot the difference between the genuine iconography from the Oldwalls and the work of a wannabe-mason-turned-painter-for-kicks.

“The underlying cause and effect, the motives and the culprits were clear cut.” Her voice was clear, flat, and methodical. The one she used in the war camps or after battle when she would reach a decision, and proclaim a judgment. “The true guilty party believed herself clever and untouchable by Kayros’ law. I have shown her the error in her way of thinking, and have done so in a perfectly legal manner.”

Others did not argue. Others were not Archon of Justice. And the Adjudicator was, quite clearly, of a different opinion. As the parchment slowly, _deliberately_ floated down among the paperwork on the desk, the ivory mask focused solely on her.

“It is suspect that fatebinder Althea was unable to solve the case on her own. And indeed, it seemed to have stalled to a halt until you have shown on the scene.”

True, true. But there was no mystery as to why that was… almost every occupant of the establishment, besides herself and the other fatebinder, were of the Chorus (indeed, the entire village was on Chorus’ grounds and technically in their property and Tunon was well aware of that), and there had clearly been a fight, if the two tied up, heavily beaten, and fitfully struggling men laid out on top of the bar were any indication. The obvious culprits were waiting for her curtsy of the gang she had lead to victory at one point.

The less obvious ones, she had to locate for herself.

“Mere coincidence. As I’ve previously mentioned, I was on my way back to the city when I was intercepted by the local village leader in need of legal assistance-…”

“One which he could acquire from the fatebinder already present. Or are you suggesting her skills were inadequate to solve this case on her own?”

“Not at all, Your Honour,” Ponirya responded softly, trying to mellow the situation. The girl didn’t do anything to deserve being thrown to the wolves. Alright, maybe one wolf. A small one. Althea needed to learn to stop writing excessively detailed reports. Those didn’t help anyone. “This gang in particular was familiar with me. That made them more eager to cooperate.”

“Familiarity should not factor in willingness to uphold the law.” His voice echoed around the room, crashing like tidal waves during a storm, as if the very idea of such behaviour was repugnant. To him, it _was_.

_‘Yes, well... about that...’_ Ponirya swallowed back a sigh, her expression slipping from neutral to dry and _mildly disappointed_. To say that Tunon has been disconnected from the world of mortals for a long time now, would be an understatement. She was far from first to think that. “And if people were as straightforward as such, Your Honour, my job as a fatebinder would be much simpler. And also, done in half the time, I assure you. Murders don't solve themselves, sadly.”

Once more, his silence stretched on. With parchment no longer in his hand, Ponirya knew that he was going over the report, word by word, in his mind. He had memorized them all.

“Your choice of punishment for the committed crimes was lenient. Why?”

“The perpetrator is dead.”

“And the accomplices live. Conscripted by the Chorus? An odd choice.”

Kyros' laws were unforgiving, so this attitude was expected among the fatebinders. She thought she had done pretty well in this case.

“It seemed appropriate. They will serve and then die. Those who are part of the Chorus rarely live to see old age, and death may await them in the camp just as surely as it will on the battlefield.”

“There is truth in your words. Although I question of what use they will be, and if the different punishment would have ultimately been of greater service.” He moved from behind the massive desk and came to stand before her, now truly towering over her. Shadows he brought with him moved to coalescent around her feet and licked her ankles. Cold. Freezing. The temperature around her had to have dropped lower than on the coldest winter night in the Northern Empire. Colder than the deepest depth of the Oldwalls.

He leaned over. A shadow more terrifying than anything Mark had ever fashioned.

“Sometimes judicious application of the whip is necessary to keep everyone in line – and the scars it leaves are a continual reminder to everyone of the particular lessons that have been demonstrated.”

Her eyes widened and her heartbeat speedup. The crack of a whip exploded in her ears. To this day, that sound made her whimper and curl on the inside. Her back tingled with memory of skin and flesh being stripped. It was worse when in her novice years they forced her to do it to someone else.

Why? Why go there?

Nothing in this case – not even the damned artefact, if he even knew about it – earned her _this… line of questioning_. Did he use it just to drag her past back to the surface and humiliate her? What would be the point to that?

Ponirya stiffened, thoughts flashing unwillingly once more to the night that she had watched her parents being dragged away by the Disfavored. The blood splattered on the smashed crates, the carts half-filed with forbidden artefacts… her own clothes and hands and face. How helpless she was that she could do nothing but run as deep and far as she could into the Oldwalls.

She couldn’t allow herself to drop the mask, not even for a moment, and all that was left on a blank face that could mirror his own, was a silent glare. A hint of rage, resentment and contempt, burning right under the surface of her eyes. It was not forgotten. It was not forgiven.

He stared at her for a long, long moment, earlier curiosity regarding the case notably absent from his demeanour, and in the stretching silence, Ponirya felt her heart nearly shudder to a halt. There was death, in his blank mask, and it stared her down. It was like staring into the eye of a storm, the weight and censure of his many centuries bearing on her shoulders... but she did not bow.

All of her former fear vanished in a surge of indignation, of determined justice, and stared straight at the Archon, her gaze hard and unwavering.

She only stood taller, and squared her jaw. No. He will not sidetrack her like this! He will not drag her into whatever direction to get whatever it was he was after. She was not going to let that happen. She had survived for too long to let herself be set up like this.

If the Court taught her anything, it was how to with great effectiveness talk in circles, and talk others in circles. One would think that the Archon of Justice would be immune to machinations of his own Court rules.

“I have not broken the letter of the law, Your Honor,” she insisted, holding his gaze unwaveringly; adrenaline was coursing through her and her voice was even as she spoke the only truth that mattered here. “As it is decreed by Overlord Kyros, as it is written by you – all of the conditions of article 505, paragraph 218 have been met.”

But it was the truth she could’ve worded so much better, and Ponirya knew that. Tunon was well aware that she knew it. There was a question if he was willing to do something about it… A fatebinder’s judgment, once pronounced, is final and Tunon would never completely overrule a fatebinder’s decision, for doing so would undermine the rule of law and the integrity of the fatebinders. The way she went about doing things might not be to his liking, but he was unable to argue about her results.

In fact, she dared him to argue about that and continued to hold his eye until after a long, dragging minute of silence, he continued.

“Very well.” The Archon of Justice pulled back, the ice-cold grip holding her body hostage lessening.

When he turned to move back to his place behind the desk she resisted the urge to roll her eyes, still shaken from the moment of very real danger that had just passed her by. No harsh words, no direct threats were exchanged, but this was surly one of more intense and near-death experiences she had had with him.

Although she had no idea what this was about (because it couldn’t be this messily case), she knew was in the clear. For now.

And not to forget, this was a private meeting. If he decides to make an example of her, it will be done in public – and be as dramatic as possible. She should really thank Kyros for instilling and demanding extravagance out of everyone. She should also congratulate herself for surviving another day in Kyros’ Empire.

He might saddle her with someone to oversee her cases, triple check her findings and decisions. Maybe he would have Calio become her personal shadow. Now, there was a possibility she truly dreaded, and not because of any possible scrutiny she might face on her end – she simply couldn’t stand the woman.

“Though I question your choices, you have followed proper procedure. Order was established. Justice was served. Peace was preserved.”

Of course it was. When had she ever done her job poorly?

“You are dismissed. Return to your duties,” he said shortly, already ignoring her presence.

“As you will, Your Honour,” Ponirya, barely biting down on her tongue so she would not say more, managed as she bowed and walked out the door of his office chamber, storming down the stairs with indignant fury, trying her best to force her anger down.

 *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: English is not my native language, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

*

_The Vellum Citadel held a comprehensive body of dangerous arcane knowledge that had to be seized — or destroyed. Operative word here being: **seized**._

*

“You. _Are_. **_Late_**.”

Of course Rhogalus was in the Archives. Of course he was. This was, what, her third mentor in a single day. She hadn’t seen this many familiar faces in a succession since her days in the Academy.

She had hoped that she would just be able to walk over to his desk, pick up the list of reports ‘suspiciously absent’ from the main archive and be done with it. But no. That’s not how things went in the Court. The old coot seemed to have been waiting for her, shifting through and signing a few papers on the top of his bureau, but didn't grant her his full regard, only flipping another form over.

The Fatebinder of Lore, (and she had a lot to say about that...) was something of a legend in the Court, with multiple commendations, wartime service, some extraordinary spy work and over forty years of service under his belt. He was a tall man with slumped shoulders and a hawkish nose, bristling grey moustache and severely trimmed hair, with eyes tired from scanning hundreds of manuscript pages. He was not to be underestimated from his aging appearance.

Still not anyone’s first choice for a partner, by any stretch of the imagination.

“Couldn’t be helped, really. I was otherwise engaged.”

The man steepled his fingers underneath his chin, setting it on them and blinking slowly. His gaze didn't waver from hers, clearly attempting to establish dominance. “The note was clear: _No delays_ and _no excuses_ ,” he held out his hand expectantly.

“Feel free to tell the Adjudicator how he messed up your schedule,” Ponirya shrugged and handed over a stack of missives she had kept from the journey back.

Rhogalus, finally taking his attention away from his paperwork, looked up at her intensely. “And that?” He intimated slowly deliberately, flicking a meaningful look over at the bag at her side that had a loaf of bread discreetly sticking out of it.

“Food.” Shaken from her silence by the sheer coolness of the man's voice, stood up a bit straighter.

“Oh? So, it’s suddenly allowed in the Archives? I’ve must’ve signed the approval when I wasn’t looking.” Pale moustache twitched from what could be either a smirk or a sneer.

“I had a meeting with Tunon on an empty stomach. Have some mercy. And besides, don’t you want me to write those reports? Wouldn’t you prefer of me to do so as efficiently and as quickly as possible?” As she spoke from her other satchel hanging from her hip, the one he was covertly glancing at, she pulled out the tablet she had confiscated. She had it already copied for her personal perusal, so there was no reason not to use it as leverage, as she expected she’d have to. Especially with someone as lore-hungry as Rhogalus.

It was wrapped in the cloth, but with hard edges sticking out from under it, for those who know what to look for, it was easy enough to guess what it was that she was holding. His eyes positively twinkled at the sight.

“Where did you find this?” He barked, scanning the stone before him with pale, frost blue eyes that cut through the candle lighting like lightning.

“In the wrong hands, obviously.”

“You are aware that _this_ counts as _possessing forbidden knowledge_.”

“No, _this_ counts as me doing your job, and the job of your department, and _keeping_ said _forbidden_ _knowledge_ far away from unwashed masses’ eyes,” she informed him carefully, sidestepping any needless details, and though his eyes narrowed at her teasing tone, his gaze sharp and flickering over her face searchingly, he seemed distracted by her last remark.

“But if you don’t want it,” she reached for the tablet, “We all know who the true authority on the Oldwalls iconography is here. I know what to do with tha-...”

Having none of that, and keeping the stone tablet out of her reach, the old man sighed, shrugging his shoulders, and placed it on his desk, instead, refolding and holding the bundle of missives she had presented him with.

This was old news between them. Many times she had sent him curious and unusual items from the front lines or battlefields that had occurred near the olden ‘forbidden’ structures. She had always been drawn to Oldwalls, even as she kept away from them in the years since she was incorporated into the Court (such was the law).  Considering her familiarity with the old civilization, Rhogalus had admitted that at one point he had toyed with the idea of taking her as his second apprentice, but since Kyros’ Empire operated on the principle of ‘finders-keepers’ (unless the Overlord explicitly said otherwise), Bleden Mark had nipped that notion in the bud.

“Fine! You can have your meals here,” he said as he ran his bony fingers across the relief surface. “Here is your list. I expect the complete book of reports for the year three of Conquest; the entirety of your deliberations and judgments for the year 430TR, in the next three days. And two nights,” he added pointedly.

“Sure. Just chunk me to the deep end, why don’t you,” Ponirya’s false smile shrunk at that and she muttered as she stalked past him to snatch the pack papers and instructions on which reports were missing.

“What was that?”

“Very gracious of you, sir!” She saluted and continued with a brisk walk, and Rhogalus, exasperated and unimpressed with her tactless insinuation, let her go with a wrinkle of his nose and shake of his head.

Only three days and two nights? _Pfft!_ She had obliterated towns and massacred enemy armies on a tighter schedule.

Making three left turns, she descended a slightly cracked staircase to let herself into the scribes rooms of the archives, just off the ‘forbidden books’ department. Both the archives, and the library, were a maze, so there was a good chance to get lost among the shelves and cubicles. Not that it was entirely Rhogalus’ fault. The heavy bureaucracy of the bygone merchants era contributed a lot to the current labyrinthine state.

She would, of course, access all the necessary files and such things from the main area, but this was a little more private if she wanted to write everything down in peace. Only a few archivists were dotted about the shelves here and there, leaving her open to choose a spot against one of the walls, near a tall window allowing for some natural light, and settled her writing material down, with the intent to finish a good portion of her work. And also to turn her thoughts away from all things that had been weighing her mind down since the meeting this morning. Sitting down and setting the bag with food over to the side, far enough for her not to spill anything all over the blank parchment, she leaned back and took a deep, deep sigh.

_Merciful_... This was a long day, and it even wasn’t midday yet. Being grilled in the most unexpectedly brutal fashion by Tunon made her thirst for a drink, but _luckily_ , she had brought some with her – she had brought _a lot_. And she didn’t hesitate to poor herself a cup.

Of course he’d known she had come back to Court. He knew everything about anything that occurred in this place. Any other time, she’d find it interesting how he managed to find faults in cases she had been involved while still far south and not a span before even stepping back into the Bastard city.

This wasn’t one of those situations, though.

The case itself was immaterial – it was her judgment which was called in question. As if there was some kind of internal investigation in regards to her, but that was usually Calio’s department. She felt like she was being tested, but whether she had passed or not, she had no idea.

Her fingers reached for her left shoulder, where the brand hidden under the sleeves was. In addition to the two names added to her own, it effectively marked her as property of Tunon’s Court, and Tunon himself. It made her heart flutter with joy to know that the damn scaring had finally started to fade away in the past years.

But... it didn’t look good for her, and she was aware of that. With the way things were going, and the sheer number of summons, Ponirya was expecting that, now that she was back from the war, it wouldn’t be much longer before she was moved to a street duty.

No matter which crime-riddled city in Kyros’ Empire, it was already part of her job to deal with the mob and their lesser affiliates on a regular basis – sometimes to do war, and sometimes to make peace. She had thought she would have more time, though, to acclimate. Going from war crimes to street violence will take some getting used to.

The prospect itself didn’t insult her, nor she wasn’t against it – honestly, she expected she was going to have much more fun and far less scrutiny working with common criminals – but it did feel oddly deliberate that the Court would ‘demote’ the one fatebinder who opened the gates to the city during the Conquest. Especially given how almost immediately upon securing victory, Tunon had taken it for himself under a claim that since it was one of his Court that had won the city, he had the right to take it as his seat.

Even to this day neither army was allowed in for any reason other than to deliver messages or stand trial. And although he didn’t have a standing army as such, soldiers loyal to the Adjudicator garrisoned the city, his standard precaution against those who might attempt to scheme. Not that he needed it. From what she had seen, the law-abiding part of the city’s population was eating out of his hand, and were ready to defend it with their lives.

As pointless as that would be.

Taking another deep sigh, Ponirya resolved to finally focus on her work. It really wasn’t going to write itself. Trying to focus, scooting in the chair, she started looking over the list cases. Her mind went blank. Rhogalus has truly outdone himself. Just looking over the amount, the pile reports she had to write for the formal record was outstanding. She flipped the first of many pages.

_‘Would you believe it, there’s more to read.’_ Her eyes scanned the list that just _kept_ **_going_**. _‘And even more to write. Oh goodness me…’_

 Looking over the list of dates and events that she has reportedly been assigned to, she realized that to some of them she wasn’t directly involved in to begin with. So, it’s already gone to shit.

“Ponirya, constantly fidgeting with shame will not get your reports done faster!”

Thanks to the _fine_ acoustics of the building, Rhogalus’s voice carried all the way to where she was sitting, with all the precision of an equally _fine_ knife. For all present ears to hear. Ponirya’s forehead had never hit her palms so fast, her eyes clenched shut and her stomach twisting into restless knots.

“... _urrgh_...”

*

Sweat had been dripping from the loose coil of hair that drooped from behind her ear, gathering under the brim of her hair binder, and trickling down her neck. She had undone the top two laces of her uniform shirt covertly, hopeful of catching a breath of a breeze through the crack in the tall windows, and she was looking forward to dinner, where she would be able to dry off, more than she was the rest of the work day like she had been intending.

She let out a sigh, plopping her now empty cup far enough from the finished pages, and scratched under her bangs, wiping the sweat onto her trousers.

The archives of the Bastard city, as maze-like as they were, were also clean (if one did not count finding books in places they shouldn’t) and open, with tall windows that allowed for an occasional breeze. Panelled in wood and littered with tables, booths, and crowned by a long, shining shelves, all filled with books, manuscripts and stone tablets. Even back in Northern Empire, in the old palace during her younger days, the libraries were her favourite place to get lost in. The air was always clouded with the smells of ink, parchment, leather, and wax, and was charged with what she knew to be magic, the energy of the world crackling against her skin like instinct and agitation.

No matter her theoretical knowledge of magic and sigils, she could still perform not a single one of them. And just as she had little mind to spare for the things she simply couldn’t do, the archiving process had more than a few hiccups along the way (she was still dwelling heavily on her and Nunoval’s conversation, saying nothing of the conundrum of the summons from Tunon, which turned out to be over noting at all), which lead to her having to redo some of the reports twice. Rhogalus, who had walked by her seat _several_ _times_ , seemed to pick up on her distraction and covertly muttered on her lack of respect towards costly writing utensils.

But progress was being made. A good chunk was set in order in a little more than half a day, and Ponirya, with a heavy sigh and an idle motion to brush her sweat crusted hair behind one ear, leaned against the front of her desk, flipping through the latest report she had filled out herself and feeling a sense of pride in it. Short, concise, to the point, and not filled with needless clutter. It felt good, knowing she could do things efficiently by herself, with minimal help. Being self-reliant was one of the keystones of surviving the Court.

A sent wafted near her. A sent that wasn’t supposed to be here. A delicious sent. And leaning to the side to get a better look at the pathways between the shelves, she caught the sight of a servant with a large covered platter heading towards where Rhogalus’ little corner was.

Oh, so it’s allowed and doesn’t interrupt the complicated procedures of archiving work when _he does it_ , but the rest of them can happily starve?

Her hunger awoken by the mere thought of alcohol and the smell of cooked meat, she realised she was starving and promptly reached for food. It wasn’t much, but it would get her through until dinner. If Rhogalus even allowed her out, that is.

_‘Not that it matters,’_ she grinned. It’s not like she couldn’t sneak out once he’s dead asleep.

With some pork lard spread across slice of bread in her hand, she leaned back in the wooden chair, savouring the flavour and enjoying the moment. If she was being honest with herself (and she always was), the kitchens were a fortunate but also an... impromptu stop.

On her way to the Archives she had sensed a familiar presence – much like the times as a child in the Oldwalls, when she could feel the Bane in the air, around the corner or before they manifested – and she immediately skedaddled in whichever direction was opposite of where he was, scrambling to get out of the way and all but tripping over her own feet – very undignified for someone as thoroughly trained as her. With a stroke of luck, the kitchens turned out to be the right there.

It was the only upper hand she ever had on him and she was certain that he had never been all too pleased about it.

They’ve parted on poor terms... In fact, had the war not officially started that night, she doubted she would be breathing still. Or worse. She had expected worse at the time. What she _thought of_ as worse. Except...

It seemed silly now, after the war – after everything she had seen, she had done and had ordered others to do, people she could not protect from greater devastation... He was right. She was an immature child and it took a war to sober her up.

And, even after all that, she was not yet ready to face him, to deal with him in any way. Especially not after Tunon. She could handle only so much of powerful, magical, immortal bastards per fist, and as far as she was concerned – her quota was filled.

And now, spending many, many, many days (and nights) in the Archives felt like a positively delightful idea. And it wasn’t altogether dull either. If she leaned out a bit from her cosy little desk, she could hear Rhogalus, humming under his breath and chuckling on occasion. As well as hear him berate various servants, novices, retainers, and a scant few other fatebinders, working in the library and the Archives.

“...-sleep is a poor excuse. And so are you.” His voice carried over.

_‘Ouch.’_ She didn't know this kid, but she knew he didn't deserve this sort of humiliation, especially in front of an audience (the Archives were never truly devoided of people). Still, that slightly vindictive part of her always found observing, and listening in to this fascinating.

His utter dismissal of novices was his way, or so she had been told. Personally, she had felt unwelcome in her new home from all sides, not just his. It grated against the temper of many a new blood. Every time she had spoken with him she felt like no less than the filth ingrained beneath his boots, so far beneath his expectations and regard that she didn't even register on his level of existence. There was just something in the way he looked on others that simply made them feel... inadequate (almost like an Archon would).

_‘I wonder why...’_ she thought laughing privately.

Unless one was in possession of an interesting talent, such as the case with Iphigenia was. Until then, every new kid, retainer, novice and every servant – everyone not in possession of his methodical mind – would likely keep tripping over their tongue and looking the fool Rhogalus clearly thought they were.

She couldn't reason why. It was just a feeling, and one she assumed came with the level of command and respect he garnered. It no longer made her uncomfortable, and the seniors were right when they told her it would pass with time. Honestly, no matter how she tried to excuse it... the only two people who could invoke fear in her have long since stopped being human.

In her concentrated distraction, her mind being drawn to several logical conclusions that have been plaguing her, she had all but ignored someone approaching her.

“...-Rhogalus?”

Lost as she was to her thoughts, it took him several casual calls, a repeat of a question, and finally one prod to her shoulder, to gain her attention back to reality. That also meant that her reflexes reacted before her mind had a chance to, and the poor man’s finger ended up bend under unnatural angle. She blinked in confusion, looking up at the other retainer blankly, and his expression of surprise, pain and sheer _terror_.

“Sorry, straight from the front lines,” she managed with an indulgent, friendly smile and jerked a thumb over her shoulder, in the direction of what passed as Rhogalus’ office. “You’ll find the venerable Fatebinder of Lore over there. You’ll probably also have to wait in line for a bit.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he managed, his large, wide smile was strained and his posture eerily still. Ponirya was not blind to the way his shoulders stiffened as he walked away, and it was not only because of the large package he was carrying.

Fatebinders being fatebinders usually scared people.

But that’s all part of the Court’s atmosphere and charm.

A Disfavored by the looks of the robe and insignia. An earthshaker? Now that was curious. What would an earthshaker need from Court’s archives? Curious, she watched him leave, briefly, before her eyes returned to scan the pages she had just completed.

It wasn’t long before something else broke through her attention from behind the wall of vellum and parchment. It was borderline frustrating – she was trying to finish her work here.

“I assume this is Radix’s way of showing his appreciation for the information provided.”

What now?

“Indeed, he does, for all the relevant information you were gracious enough to provide. It has made our cooperation with Fatebinder Ponirya much more efficient.”

Wait-... _what_ _now?_

Who was Rhogalus talking to?

Spinning about to get a better look in between shelves and books, she saw it was the same man whose finger she nearly broke. He launched into his verbal report, his grin still tight and forcibly held in place. They spoke of Beastmen of the Stone Sea and dissenters, bold enough to try and hide in the still stirring caverns and canyons of newly reshaped Azure. Seemingly nothing of consequence, but it was not a coincidence that they have decided to stop and talk so close to where she could overhear them.

Well, now... If they wanted to be overheard, she was more than happy to oblige them. Getting up, she walked over to deliver what she had written. Dropping off the paperwork was the easiest part of the day thus far. As they were standing close to her and near one of the empty cubicles, she did not have to go far.

“Fatebinder Ponirya,” Rhogalus intoned spotting her. She could see a smirk under those moustaches. Oh, this was done so deliberately. “Finally delivering that report?”

It took Ponirya a moment to catch on, the sheen of a box catching the light of his desk lamp and distracting her, before she twitched, working through the meaning of all this, and approached to put the creased report into his waiting hand.

“First five spans, master Rhogalus. I’ll endeavour to complete the rest in the time you have generously allocated for me.”

The man glanced over at Ponirya, who merely arched an eyebrow at this whole curious conversation. He might have wanted to say something more, but for a moment he seemed scared – perhaps trying to guess if she had heard them speak. Rhogalus, however, looked at the young earthshaker and nodded at the heavy wooden box, still sealed securely with Stone sigil. With an expression of utter innocence, Ponirya glanced back and forth between the two men, who seemed to be talking about nothing at all.

“I must be off now. Graven Ashe is moving the army and I should join my unit on the way south.”  

“Send my regards to your master, as well as my gratitude for hunting down those infidels.”

Or, to put it plainly, two guild masters were honouring the mutually beneficial agreement and exchanging knowledge on the old world magic.

“I will. Farewell master Rhogalus.” With a salute, a fist to his chest, he turned and made his way back through the maze-like corridors and shelves, looking no less lost than when he first appeared.

Once the man was gone, Ponirya sidestepped Rhogalu, pulled the box over and unlocked it in three expert movements – just because she couldn’t perform sigils, didn’t mean she couldn’t dismantle them. Inside were some wrapped books, few brilliant lilac crystals (she had no trouble guessing what those were) and three scrolls. Snatching the papers, she quickly scanned them.

“So, when did Tunon sign off and legalized bribery of court officials?”

“Seeking, and exchanging, relevant information pertaining to a case is permissible during wartime. Especially in situations where a court official is suspected in obstructing progress.” He let out a quiet sigh, “You do understand, Ponirya, that covering for an indiscretion of a fellow fatebinder will be held against you as well. This wouldn't be the first time things were... overlooked.”

She wasn’t the one assigned to Cairn in Azure, and had only ever seen the Archon of Stone once or twice, and only from a great distance. As such, she didn’t have that much contact with his subordinates. The few assaults that she was present, it was more as an assistant – not unlike what had happened with fatebinder Althea. Which usually meant that she had to gently steer events in their proper direction without offending too many people at the same time. Radix, however, seemed to have noticed. Did she ‘misinterpret’ a few of his orders? Probably... But such was her job.

It wasn’t funny, but all she could do is chuckle at that moment. “Does this mean my file is available for anyone to read through?”

No wonder she had trouble pinning down and predicting his behaviour. She had suspected that something was going on, but never that Radix had paid his way with Sages’ books all the way to Rhogalus to get any available information on her. Clever. Prepared. All the things one should expect from a competent leader. She did admire his shrewdness, but she’ll still find the time to ruin his life.

“If they ask politely enough.” And pay sufficiently in tributes. Rhogalus likely went with it because no truly important information had been leaked, (so, the abbreviated version of events) and he got to make her life marginally more difficult on the front lines.

One only ever truly learns when backed into a corner.

“...horrid old man.” With a sigh, she folded the papers and tossed them back. “Well, I’m glad that Radix had his fun with this unfair advantage.” Her pale eyes turned icy now. “An Iron Guard and an earthshaker… he should watch his step around the Matani river. It is strange how a man can accidently drown in those currents.”

As he picked up the box and headed to his makeshift office it didn’t escape his notice the tenseness that had filled the very air around them. Even Rhogalus was of the opinion that Ponirya, who was hot on his heels, may have picked up one-too-many cues from her master.

“I’m more curious how you’ve managed to become _familiar_ _enough_ with Radix Ironcore for him to actively look into you?” The way he made it sound… Even his moustache twitched.

“I’m not _familiar_ with him. We’ve played chess a few times while waiting for the army to do its thing.” Those were some of the longest matches she had had – almost as exhausting as an actual fight. The man approached everything so seriously. “I won. Repeatedly,” she dismissed, shrugging and fiddling vainly with her uniform, and he cracked a knowing smile at the flush on her cheeks, nodding ironically in mock understanding.

“I thought you weren’t all that fond of the Disfavored, and their affiliates.”

As Earthshakers were the magical arm of the Disfavored legion, that was very true. She wasn’t fond of them at all. “I keep my personal opinions and biases out of my judgments. I’m a professional after all.”

“As it should be.” He was back in his chair, ready to continue with his daily routine.

“Not that many other fatebinders practice what they preach, but what can you do? Theory and field work are two very different things.”

His scribing stopped for split of a second, but she caught it, and grinned privately. _‘Nailed it.’_

Bizarrely random events seem to bombard her from all sides, today, but now that the embarrassing episode was done and over with (and no, she was not going to get into why he wanted her to know that Radix was effectively spying on her – one thing at a time), she pulled up a chair next to his desk and straddled it, crossing her arms against the backrest. For all she cared, Rhogalus could be annoyed to Kyros’ birthplace and back, and she didn’t care. She needed some answers about the most immediate matter.

“What is going on with your apprentice?” She inquired and he, unsurprisingly, remained stubbornly stoic. “Because she tried to run me through with a sword.”

There was a snort. “Then you were in no danger.”

“I can count on one hand the number of those in the Court who pose a danger to me. That’s not the point. A sword is a poor choice for someone who can rain lightning on a small unit of soldiers,” she considered him with narrowed eyes.

“I believe she is looking for a new purpose in life… ‘famously unfulfilled’ – that’s the term you’re looking for.” Her expression hid that well enough, but when he took a chance and sent her a sideways look she appeared casually disbelieving, like she could hear a clear untruth in his answer. Because it sounded harsh. Even for him. Was Rhogalus trying to get rid of Iphigenia? Was he tired of her?

“Could that be because you are contemplating a new apprentice? Perhaps one who can have your child?”

It was meant as a provocation, and he did look up, his pale eyes on even paler face, narrowed dangerously at her. This time he was about ready to rain all kinds of devastation on her, and she knew he was very well capable of it. She wasn’t going to ask, or contemplate much, if the loss of so many children affected him as well. Of course it did. Just not in the way it would a regular father, in a sane, loving family, in some normal village out there, who minds his own business.

“I’d ask if that means you’d like to volunteer, but we all know your womb is barren as the Blade Grave.”

And the only reason that was ‘common knowledge’ was because of the unwritten, but strict and brutally enforced rule that no sex was allowed before the first blood. Or the first year of blood, in some cases. Some girls bloomed early, and others late. She was neither.

_‘Thank you, Oldwalls.’_ Ponirya offered her old mentor a most blindingly cheerful smile. “Which only means that my unique talents will remain just that – unique. I’d say luck is on my side in this case.”

Pushing the whole thing of insulting each other over even more frivolous matters aside, Ponirya’s expression turned serious. “You’re letting her stay with the Chorus. That is not a good place for a weakened mage and an overly educated lore keeper.”

“She is stronger than she looks, and she’ll be safe. Nerat will not try anything with her.” Because Nerat’s _apparent_ respect for members of Tunon’s Court was _apparently_ impeccable – even if that respect only ran as deep as his fear of Tunon and Kyros.

“Correction – Nerat won’t try anything openly.” She was familiar with Rhogalus’ dislike, even fear, of the Archon of Secrets. But she had spent three years running between the two Archons and _untying_ their disputes. The only reason she was alive, was because she had freed herself from the trappings of rigid thinking some fatebinders find themselves trapped in – particularly overly-conformist ‘archivists’.

“There was a need for a fatebinder to be stationed at the Cacophony even with the army on the move again. It is she who asked for that post.”

“As Nunoval told me. Still-…”

“Enough!”

So he was concerned for her. And yet… something felt off.

“I’m just saying that I’m right about some things, sometimes.” Most of the time.

“Perhaps the position would not be open just yet had the Vendrien’s Well been properly subdued right from the start. Some say that it was your doing that had put the Archons on this path. And worse.”

“This again? If Kyros cannot get the two to play nice with each other, than one lowly fatebinder stands little chance in making any kind of headway with them.”

Rhogalus remained silent, his hand no longer wavering, and instead smoothly transcribing the runes from the old tablet in neat handwriting. He was being deliberately oblivious to her grumbling.

It was most certainly, absolutely not true that she was helping the rebels. She might have been a tad more lenient on them, and had made things a tad more difficult for her own side, but she was certainly not in cahoots with them. Absolutely not! So, while her actions may raise suspicion, all she had ever done was perfectly legal.

Just thinking of Iphigenia’s jibes, forgiven though they may have been, sent a sour note into her wellspring of accomplishment, turning her momentarily diverted thoughts back to her former line of thinking. Namely that someone in the Court was setting her up for a fall.

Still feeling uneasy, her eyes roved Rhogalus’ desk until they settled on the still covered plate of food. It didn’t look like he had touched it, and it must have gotten cold by now. The bottle of ale, though, was half empty. And still with too much fluffy foam.

“Did Iphigenia send this?”

“That is hardly any of your business,” he griped, quirking his mouth to the side and letting out a gruff, aggravated sigh, and Ponirya chuckled under her breath. It looked like she did care, after a fashion.

“Master Rhogalus.” Someone called from behind her, across the room, and she heard his footsteps as he approached her in a hurry. When she turned to follow Rhogalus’ eyes and saw the familiar face walking with purpose towards them.

“Fatebinder Ponirya Met-” Unfortunately, the boy wasn’t willing to pay attention to the chaos that were the archives and his foot caught on some of the books that were lined up against a stone pillar.

The young page didn't even get to finish her name properly as he tumbled forward, bumping into one of the smaller tables with writing supplies. The wood buckled and all atop of it shifted downwards. He scrambled to put the inkwell on its place, and Ponirya had to catch and straighten it to prevent it from tipping over onto the floor. That was one disaster averted. Someone should really sort out all the books on the floor. It was a trip hazard.

But the boy (the same one from this morning) with face slightly flushed but otherwise as stern and unperturbed as ever, refused her offered hand and just straightened himself and his tunic, before turning towards her. In his hands was a scroll of finest quality, rolled and sealed with wax imprint of Tunon's insignia.

“Summons from the-”

“I can see that.” She interrupted taking the offered (and offending) scroll from the boy.

It certainly was another summon from the Adjudicator. Ponirya could do nothing but stare blankly at the sealed missive. This wasn't just another call one-on-one meeting – this was as official as it got.

Well, this was entirely unexpected. And ominous.

What did he need to tell her now that he couldn’t this morning? And in the main courtroom, of all places!

“Another one? This seems excessive, even for you”

“I’ve returned not two days ago. I didn't have the time to do anything _excessive!_ ”

If Rhogalus noticed the emptiness of her tone, he didn’t say anything.

*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: English is not my native language, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

*

_Kyros’ will is undeniable, the Overlord’s armies are indomitable, and the Edicts pronounced on those who dare to resist are unstoppable._

*

She could hear all of the movements of the small group of what few fatebinders were left in the Court – their chortling chatter and the clink of the iron and bronze, and the shift of their suits as they moved. Among those who were not out on missions, she even spotted Iphigenia on her way to the chamber. This time the summons took her to the throne room, for all eyes to see as she passed the corridors on her way to the grand chamber. It was a paltry gaggle of people and she could practically taste the tension in the air, with enough pairs of eyes locked on her every move despite her audience’s feigned ease.

She was surprised she hadn’t spotted Bleden Mark manifest from one of the dark corners yet. But no, she couldn’t even catch the barest hint of his presence. Maybe he was sent out already? It wouldn’t surprise her, given how fast everyone else seemed to hear of this.

Whatever it may be, it wasn’t like there were enough personnel in Court to fill out the auditorium and the curious stares lasted only so long before the massive doors closed behind her with a heavy clink. Then, it was only quiet, and the weight – pressure growing ever more present on her shoulders and against her spine.

The Edict wasn’t meant to be public knowledge, even with rumours spreading like wildfire, and so this event wasn’t official to have just anyone in the Court or the City to be invited. Oh, no one actually told her anything yet, but it had to be another Proclamation. Nothing else required this level of ceremony.

Except a trial. Those were always popular in the Court.

When the Bastard City fell to Kyros' armies, Tunon the Adjudicator, Archon of Justice – claimed the palace for his own. Now, Tunon's Court served as the centre of law and governance for the Tiers. It was the seat of his power – regal but unsettling. The area was centred around the terrace from which Tunon would deliver his judgement. Below it was the platform, suspended over the pit where those judged unworthy were thrown in – a pit she didn’t remember being there the last time she was here. Then again, back then she had rushed through the city and palace, and after that was promptly shipped off to Apex.

Even now, Tunon maintained the veneer of an orderly environment, but these shadowy pits that would flank the hall’s petitioners reminded everyone that a cruel end is but one judgment away. In many ways, the court was an effective metaphor for life under Kryos’ rule – a society that appeared well-governed and stable, so long as you ignore the gaping abyss that can swallow you at any moment.

Often, delegations from the Disfavored and the Scarlet Chorus were present, pleading their case. Right now, there weren’t that many eyes, nor did the great chamber crawl with people as it was usually the case. There was nothing but silence and the scent of shadows and ash rising from the abyss. Red and gold and black everywhere, with Tunon and Kyros’ sigils as far as the eye could see. She couldn’t see him, but Ponirya knew that Tunon was up on the dais. His presence was enough to make the empty chamber feel crowded.

It was Nunoval, all cleaned up from running daily exercises with novices, yet not in formal wear, who gestured her to follow him up to the dais above. The gate lowered to allow access to the stairs separating the two levels, where the throne was. She knew the way, but with him leading it appeared more official.

Why though? There was no one here to soak up the ceremony. An empty hall with a scant few witnesses? What was the point of this... _grandstanding_? If there were no people to see it, to witness the inevitability of Kyros’ power... there was a question why would Tunon even choose to do things this way.

Something cold and hollow dropped into her stomach, as she turned to follow the larger, heftier fatebinder up the stairs to the second-floor balcony reluctantly, swallowing at a sudden lump in her throat. Nunoval didn’t offer any words of comfort or encouragement except a hand on her shoulder. She’d feel easier if he made a quip, something about her behaviour that led to this, but he didn’t. There was no way to know if he had any knowledge of any of this, if he was aware that the Proclamation was coming, if the Edict was only waiting for the right fatebinder to be chosen or if what he had said earlier about the war was meant as a warning to her. She hadn’t noticed. She should’ve looked into it closer. It was her failure that she had missed all the clues, and more the fool she was for that.

Earlier, she had thought how Tunon wouldn’t kill her without making it public, and now she felt like those words were being shoved violently down her throat. Never the less, she followed him calmly, trying to still her rapidly beating her heart. Just how she was thought, just how it was beaten into her – keep one’s presence small, still, unnoticeable. The position she had found herself in made it seem as if the whole world was crashing down on her. If she were weaker, this would shatter her. But the Court didn’t raise them to be weak.

She didn’t want it to be so, but the Adjudicator was the first one to draw her eye. It was impossible not to be so – tall and silent, with darkness and smoke spreading from around him. Judge, jury, and executioner behind all things in the Tiers – he reminded her of the inevitability she struggled under, and ultimately ran away from. There was a lot she could say about the war, the frontlines and none of it good. But it was not the Court, and that was enough.

Naturally, by his side was Calio. As Fatebinder of Balance, she outranked all but Tunon himself. It was Calio's job to spy on other Fatebinders and cull the bad apples from the harvest. She drew a special kind of attention all of her own. ‘Beautiful’ was the meaning of her name, if one bothered to dig through the root of the word. And it suited her.

Ponirya could barely stand the woman. On her list of undesirables, Calio was the third person in line. She managed to catch one of her curious grins which gave away nothing except that this whole affair was very curious and unabashedly amusing. Or maybe it wasn’t. How someone managed to look equally expressionless and amused at the same time, she didn’t know, but Calio did and was always like that – as if her face was a mask, a part of the uniform she was tasked with wearing every day. After all these years, Ponirya was of firm belief that the courtiers did not have feelings. It was a game of pretend all around.

And, of course, there was the box held in her hands. With Kyros’ seal all over it.

Her eyes were drawn to it, sliding away from the two. It was identical to the one delivered to her when Kyros ordered destruction of the Vellum Citadel. The Edict was nicely sealed, until the one fatebinder picked to read it had it in their hands – as if the box could somehow contain the raw power. It was all a ruse. The magic could be felt, it was heavy and it made her bones shake, but it was contained to that scroll, until a voice and a life were scarified to activate magic. She thought that she had already done her share of self-sacrifice for the Empire.

Three times has it occurred during the Conquest – four if what happened with the Edict of Tumult counted – and she was among those privileged to carry the words of Kyros at the meagre age of twenty-one. Only the most zealous would be overjoyed to be picked for the proclamation, and were usually not chosen. The more sane ones knew there was a price to pay for such an ‘honour’. A price they would all pay because the Court was loyal to Kyros. Or Tunon – and since he was loyal to Kyros, that was all the rest of them needed to know. It was all they were expected to care about.

Only once she had managed to peel her eyes away from her death sentence, did she realize that not all were accounted for. If there was no proper audience than she had at the very least expected all of three senior fatebinders to be present, but there was no sign of Rhogalus. He did look a bit pale, but she thought it had more to do with his ever growing preoccupation with the archives... ...ah... Right.

Showing no outward emotion, her eyes returned to the Adjudicator. Her posture was calm, composed – everything one is not in the eye of storm. She had to be and she knew what was expected from her. It was like a tradition at this point, even before the conquest with the Edict of Tumult, and those before. Kneel and thou shall receive an Edict to bestow upon the enemies of the Overlord. And that’s what she did.

There was something about kneeling in an assembly when receiving instructions from the Archon of Justice. A form of respect? Obedience? Even Bladen Mark would offer a respectful bow to Tunon, no matter the intent behind. Keeping her head bowed allowed for a moment of respite to compose herself further.

“So _I am_ chosen for Proclamation again, Your Honour?” Dare she ask if this was also considered to be her mess, so she was the one to be doing the cleaning? Better not. She feared to hear the answer to that.

“Based on your merit, as well as the number of tasks you have successfully overseen, untangled and directed towards their proper course. As well as its lawful conclusion,” his deep voice resonated around her, digging under her skin, as he commanded her to rise. She did so, getting to her feet in one fluid moment and ignoring the unsettling urge to flee in her muscles. It was as if all of her bravado from this morning had up and vanished in smoke somewhere between that late breakfast and mountain of scrolls, yet she pressed on.

_‘Oh, so now you approve of my methods.’_ Ponirya, her heart freezing further in her chest, barely held back a snarl, her hands clenching behind her back so hard her nails bit into her palms. She hoped she hadn’t let that thought fly out of her mouth. Unwittingly, and to keep her mouth shut, her eyes fell on the ornament atop of the throne that resembled Tunon’s mask. She didn’t know if the Archon ever used it, but he would still make an imposing image. It always seemed to meet her gaze, regardless of where she was standing. It had to be another new addition, because it certainly wasn’t there when she was last in Bastard city, three years ago.

And so, surrounded by carefully watching Fatebinders of War and Balance, she crossed the space between herself and the imperious Archon of Justice. It wasn’t that she wasn’t afraid – that would be an impossible feat even for her. Fear had gripped her by the throat, but she wouldn’t allow herself to give in.

“May I inquire what kind of disaster am I bringing forth this time?” She chimed in feeling the need to be bold, to stay true to herself. “It can’t possibly be more destructive than a volcano.”

There was a glint of danger in the Archon’s stare, challenge and intransigence in his narrowed, threatening gaze. “This is a great honour the Overlord has bestowed upon you, Fatebinder Ponirya. Treat it as such.”

Sure it was. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t pissed him off enough times today alone. Tunon must’ve really been displeased by her ruling in that case. Then again, it was well established that Tunon doesn’t lie, so there had to be some truth to his words of her merit, but the questioning from this morning still lingered. That also had to be a factor in all this...

“The standstill in Vendrien’s Well has been going on for too long. Further prolongation is unacceptable. The Overlord demands a swift resolution to conflict, and Kyros provides us with such.” He gestured at Calio to bring the box, holding the doom of the people in Vendrien’s Well. The closer it was, the stronger the pull and surge of power got. Stopping right before her, Calio opened the box with an easy flick of her wrist.

“...Edict of _Execution_...” The script on the inner side of the lid read, and Ponirya echoed hollowly, her lips clenching together following her statement, eyes wide but unseeing. Oh, this was so much worse than a volcano...

Ponirya stilled her hands as she took the ornate scroll, her eyes riveted to the symbols etched on the seal. The dreadful thing seemed to almost hum happily as the restrained power of it ran across her skin. She felt something deep inside of herself, a hunger for the power of it, an almost craving to proclaim it here and now. Or maybe she just thought it did because of her past experience with Edicts.

Feeling as though a ball of iron had fallen into her stomach, she mentally shook her herself out of her stupor and turned her attention to the main figure of the room. She tried not to look at Calio. The older fatebinder unnerved her. She had more Edicts under her belt than anyone, and had lived to tell the tale. Tunon wasn’t about to sacrifice her when there were others to choose from. ...not that he wouldn’t if he had no other viable options.

“Terms and conditions of the Edict are quite simple and are as follow,” Calio’s clear voice was easily heard across the entire chamber – if anyone but them were present. “A representative of Overlord must hold the Hall of Ascension on Kyros’ Day of Swords, or all in the valley of Vendrien's Well shall perish.” Following the utter silence from the young fatebinder, Calio grinned merely and gave a nod of acknowledgement at the scroll in Ponirya’s hands. “As you’ve inferred, you are to deliver Kyros’ judgment to the Archons of War and Secrets. From there on, you will focus on coordinating the, so far, failing war effort until the uprising is crushed, and the valley claimed.”

And if all of them happen to die on the Day of Swords, then all Calio, or anyone else, has to do is stroll in and-...

Wait?

_‘Coordinate...?’_

Some of the tension in the air, _somehow_ , deflated.

Why would she need to coordinate a damn thing when there will be an effective noose around their necks? Ashe and Nerat are hardly going to continue squabbling with the Edict nipping at their heels... No, no. No. What was she thinking? Silly her. Of course they are. And it will probably be on a scale never seen before.

Ponirya could feel the spark of rage, like slowly burning coals, merge with the healthy amount of fear in the pit of her stomach. And somehow, the rage started to blind any other strong emotions.

“Your orders for me are to... clean up after them? Scold them perhaps, Your Honour, if they become too rowdy and distracted by each other? Run the logistics of _an entire siege_ in the place of their _unusually_ _unproductive and easily distracted_ generals?”

Pale mask remained the same, as always, but the shadows around the Archon shuddered, almost gaining jagged edges in their movement. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her physically, pressing against her like the entirety of the sky was pushing her down against the earth, leeching any remaining warmth from the room.

At this point, did it really matter how _mouthy_ she got with him?

Tunon had to know how ineffective Ashe and Nerat were when put in the same place – how even their people were willing to ignore the enemy when presented with an opportunity to _deride_ the other side. That was the whole reason this Edict was happening. If she survives the Proclamation itself, she will effectively be put in the position of an all-purpose clean up duty for both camps – behind and right at the front of enemy lines. She could already see the list of endless errands, demands and tasks.

“ _Remind_ them that the Overlord has expectations of them, and that they are bound to fulfil them. Even at the cost of their lives,” Calio smoothly interjected. Maybe even throwing a cautions, worrying glance at the Archon beside her.

Tunon, holding her gaze for a moment, looked down at the scroll in her hands, then glanced back up at Ponirya with cold, steely introspection. “The success of this mission, the outcome of conquest will reflect on your station in the Court as well. Succeed, and you will find yourself rewarded accordingly.”

Rewarded? With what? She was already the best operative they had. The things that she wanted, he would never give. Kyros’ law would not allow.

She wanted out of this room. Away from them. Away from him.

Despite her desire to let out another snappy comment aimed at the watchful Archon, Ponirya instead simply narrowed her eyes sharply, her disgruntled expression for him and him alone to view for a brief moment before she bowed. Just like earlier today. He had to have notice it, but she didn’t care. There was Kyros’ Edict in her hands and not even Archon of Justice could annul her departure now.

“I will see it done, Your Honour.”

*


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: English is not my native language, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

*

_The Right of Destruction asserts that only Kyros may destroy a subject of the Overlord._

*

Packing was a good excuse not to think about the scroll resting on her bed, or the implications. She was having too many thoughts and too many of them revolved around her imminent death. Her plan was to take only the most essential of things she would need for the trip. Afterwards, if there is afterwards, the camp should provide for the rest.

She dressed for mobility so there was no need for anything too heavy and constraining... Pair of swords, daggers, wire, poison... just some of the tools required to kill. She could do just as well without, but it’s always good to be prepared. And with the rebels there, she could expect to be doing a lot of killing. There was no way she will be relegated to counting days in the tent.  No, if her previous experience was anything to go on by, she will be completing tasks the Archons’ commanders have deemed impossible of doing. And with her own life on the line-...

_‘No. Focus.’_

She needed to get a grip… she couldn’t lose her head like this… It was hard, but she had to will herself to calm down. She had not felt like this since the day the Edict of Fire was delivered into her hands. The last time this had happened she was alone, the box containing the Edict sealed shut and delivered to her. It was done in private and didn’t feel like she was being publicly smeared and executed. Tunon could’ve easily presented the Edict in his office that very morning and it would’ve been no less terrifying or imposing or make her stomach contract in various ways. He was making a point with this, and like many things that didn’t make sense since her return. The reason behind this eluded her.

Has she finally crossed the line?

It didn’t feel so, and she was usually good at reading when she was pushing too much.

She rubbed her palms into her closed eyes, groaning under her breath and scrunching her fingers into her mussed hair. She'd always had a knack for getting herself into trouble, so she honestly shouldn't be surprised... but it was an incredible stroke of bad luck for this to happen on her second day back.

Rubbing the back of her neck, she took a deep breath and pulled out her leather bound book – arguably, the most expensive of her possessions, and as one Fatebinder of Lore argued, the most frivolous waste of material to date. Books were meant to store records, not as entertainment. Still, she had rings to spend and well… She questioned how smart it would be to take it with her, but it brought her comfort. Sketching was the only pleasure she had allowed herself in all these years, and she’ll be damned if she let them take even that from her. Wrapping it up in coarse cloth for protection, she pushed it in her satchel. There, that should keep it safe enough with everything that she’ll be doing.

Oh, and the Edict as well. Now there was something she wished she could forget but knew better. Mark himself would track her down. And wouldn’t that end up being bloody fun... for some.

It took a timid knock on her door to rouse her from her less-than-pleasant thoughts. Unexpected, but the only thought she had was – _‘Please let it not be Calio,’_ – repeated over and over. But when she opened them, standing there was non-other than Iphigenia.

_‘Better. I think...’_

Moderately surprised at this development and certainly not who she was expecting to see, Ponirya moved and allowed her in. The corridor outside was already lit with torches and candles, with many shadows dancing in between.

“Didn’t expect you to show up for a good bye,” Ponirya called as she closed the door behind her.

Iphigenia looked pale, shook and considerably worse since the call for another Edict has come. That is to say, she looked even more distresed than this morning. In Ponirya’s experience, there was only one solution for that.

“Wine?”

This surprised the archivist and she followed the younger fatebinder with wide eyes. “You have some here? Even with the rationing?”

Ponirya wasn’t all that surprised when she learned of it (and it was so damn obvious it would happen eventually), although the cook was merciful enough to let her have food earlier today.

“Leftovers from the road. I couldn’t very well dump them in the kitchens.” Ponirya ducked to pull out two wooden cups and a wineskin from a miserably small trunk-turned-cupboard at the foot of her bed, and offered one cup to the archivist. She had a feeling this might prove helpful. “Sadly, I can’t offer more than that.” She filled both of their cups and crossing the small space, settled herself on a small stool, right under the window, with the stunning view and a low hanging sun. Iphigenia looked at the cup, the wine swirling hypnotically, and sat on the edge of the bed looking for all intent uncomfortable. Ready to jump out of her skin, some might say.

“I guess you had a point about me being too soft with the rebels. Not that anything I could’ve think of can compare to an Edict,” Ponirya joked half-heartedly. Iphigenia made a bland noise of agreement, seemingly unable to speak at the moment as even more colour left her face. It was quite the change from the woman who was spewing anger and spite that same morning.

“That wasn’t what I-...” she tried and stopped. She looked like had trouble forming the words. And that should be completely out of the ordinary for someone whose sole duty _are_ words. She took a deep gulp from the cup, and then another deep breath. “I _need_ to apologize for how I acted this morning.”

“You don’t _need_ to do anything.” Ponirya cracked a smile and looked sideways at Iphigenia, who was clenching the cup in her hand in a vicelike grip, her knuckles white and pronounced. “Do you _want_ to?”

“I do.”

“You should be a better liar by now.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Right.”

There was a pause, and Iphigenia looked away. Archivists. Still, something made Iphigenia come to her, right before she was to leave the Court once more, and Ponirya felt she should go about this carefully.

“That’s not fair, how you read people.” Iphigenia shuddered, her blush only deepening in almost wilful defiance of her attempt to force it down.

“I blame the Courtroom.”

“And how do you manage to be so stubbornly tight-lipped at the same time?!”

“Have some mercy. I’ve used up all of my eloquence today. So, allow me to be direct and ask what’s on your mind?”

“What makes you think it’s anything other than apology I am _trying_ to offer?”

“For start, you don’t feel guilty enough. We can proceed from there.”

“Maybe not in the way _you_ think.” There was no hiding a slightly haughty tilt of her head. “After what happened this morning... and now... And I _wanted_ to talk to you.” Ponirya waited patiently for her senior to find her footing and continue. “It remained me of the last time the Kyros issued those Edicts.”

“Mhm... Kyros sure did issue a lot of them since the beginning of the war, that’s true.”

“I think everyone hoped that a year ago... it would be the last time. Tiers was that one final, unconquered frontier. It should have been over.”

Everyone remembered that one horrible year. The entire landmass of Tiers shook, earthquakes abound following the three Proclamations in short succession. The majority of people on both sides hoped for some kind of peace after that calamity. Ponirya tried to give them that, long before Kyros made its move – even succeeding for short amount of time. But some people... well, she’ll be dealing with them soon enough.

“Everyone at the Court is tense.”

“They’re not the one being sent to the front lines.”

“It’s the food shortage. With _all of this_ ,” the woman gestured vaguely in the air around, and possibly at Ponirya herself (how rude), “going on for so long, the supplies are becoming more sparse. These days, it’s like Kyros is punishing everyone for the actions of a few.”

 _‘No surprise there,’_ Ponirya sighed eyes downcast and watching the dancing shadows. _‘It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe it was its favourite tactic.’_

As punishment for their intransigence against Kyros, the family lands of many Bastard Tier nobles were rendered lifeless by the Ritual of Fallowing – a merging of Cairn’s power in concert with his disciples that would blight the landscape for generations to come. And that was not counting the other three regions still being torn apart by active Edicts. Shortage of just about everything was inevitable.

“If this works out the way it is planned, then everything should be returning to normal.” _‘Whatever counts as normal these days.’_

“I think so. That’s why the Adjudicator has sent out the call for the liaisons with the Archons of War and Secrets, to begin with. You know, it wasn’t just me volunteering for the field. That the Chorus required professional assistance was decided a while ago.”

“You still chose to apply. Which is, I have to say, odd given how your outings in the field were brief and to the point. Your experience to act as a liaison between the Court and anyone is really-...”

“In question? I am not stupid, Ponirya. I am familiar with courtly procedures, and what I don’t know, I can learn. It happens to be one of my strong points.”

“It was just an observation. As was the one this morning,” Ponirya gave her one-sided shrug. “But since you’re obviously not here to seek advice from me on all the wonderful intricacies of field work... you still haevm’t told me what is it that brings you here?”

“Again with that? I tried and failed to offer an apology. And now I’m drinking contraband wine. I’m not sure what else do you mean?” And, in Iphigenia’s humble opinion, it was an unusually strong wine. Or maybe she was just too used to watered-down slush they’ve been having.

“You are being tremendously polite since you’ve shown up. And when I say ‘polite’, I mean you don’t always say what you mean.”

There was a long stretch of silence, a long pause, where the only sounds were those coming through the window – wind and a distant city.

Iphigenia’s shoulders dropped and she started slowly. “Back when you were tasked with proclaiming the Edict of Fire on the Sages’ Library, that freed Roghalus from this obligation,” she supplied vacantly, swallowing hard and trying extremely hard to suppress her lower lip trembling. “I think, the same thing happened now.”

“You mean to say that if it weren’t for my timely arrival, he would’ve been sent out instead.”

Iphigenia nodded, still not looking at her, her entire body frozen in instinctive fear. They haven’t seen each other for three years, but Ponirya didn’t think of her senior as weak or fearful, so this display was unusual. But, this proved her suspicions correct – the Edict has been sitting around for a while, waiting for that one person.

Her, in this case.

Ponirya filled her cup and then promptly took a long swing from it.

Yeah, so nothing she did mattered. The choice was between her and Roghalus, and just like with Calio, Tunon wasn’t going to risk the old man. And _obviously_ no other fatebinder present in the Court was _qualified_ _enough_ to do the job of reading a _fucking_ scroll.

She felt... tired. Exhausted even.

“Is that a good thing?” Ponirya’s voice dropped, and Iphigenia looked up. “For all appearances it looks like you two are drifting away.”

“No. It’s nothing like that. Why would you even say that?”

“This morning – I’m going to draw a conclusion and say that either I have done something to piss you off, unlikely since I just got back, or you’re pissed at Rhogalus for... _something_ , and you acted out.”

Iphigenia didn’t dare let out a sound, though her conflicting expression told a lot more than she probably wanted. “It’s not that... It doesn’t have anything to do with that. There are things... promised to me that are yet to be fulfilled.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a fatebinder having anything promised to them and it being delivered.” Ponirya remarked and Iphigenia said nothing but couldn’t hide her wince completely. After a moment of silence, Ponirya took a different approach. She wasn’t so heartless as to make that worse, but she was pragmatic enough to do so.  “Was it a family that he promised to you? You know that even if you do give birth there’s no guarantee that they would let you raise the child. Or keep it in the Court,” she responded equably, keeping any thoughts to herself for the moment, and Iphigenia, in her distraction, simply couldn’t think fast enough to deny her what she was asking, her clouded senses doing her no favours.

“A gifted child from one of the three would remain,” the woman said with fervour and fire in her eyes, reaching over and taking the wineskin from Ponirya’s hands to pour herself another cup. “Besides, I’ve been sent here by my family, with great expectations. It’s not just so I can bear the most gifted of children.”

“Oh? A new Fatebinder of Lore, is it... That’s ambitious.” And also troubling. Master Roghalus still had a lot of life in that old shell of his.

“It’s not like we’re prohibited from marrying. And he is so close to retiring.” There was a deep flush covering her face and neck now. “I’m the best of his apprentices, and it’s been hinted for a long time now,” she stressed, deftly avoiding any culpability or doubt with a tiny shrug of her shoulders, as though confused why anyone would try to keep denying themselves their greatest desire.

Ponirya didn’t bother to voice the fact that Iphigenia was Roghalus’ only relevant apprentice.

“Suit yourself. It’s not a carrier choice I would choose.”

“Why? After what you’ve done with Bustard City, you have similar options open to you.”

“I’m not suicidal enough to go after Mark’s position, thank you very much.” She wouldn’t want it even if she was an Archon material.

“And Calio’s?” Ponirya gave the woman a puzzled look and it was Iphigenia’s turn to grin conspiratorially. “There was even some talk, you know, that you might supplement Calio at a certain point. There was, I mean... before the Edict.”

‘At a certain point’ usually referred to ‘when she dies’. Never mind that Calio was too young to retire and just too damn lucky to die early.

Ponirya snorted. “Hardly. And that’s not counting the Proclamation.”

“Why not? Your skill set is closest to hers. Both of you were trained by the Archon of Shadow.”

“Because that would be an illogical decision on Tunon’s part and he refrains from being illogical. And also because Calio is his favourite and, given today’s evidence, I’m clearly... not. And, while we’re at it, let’s not forget that Calio too, has her own apprentice she’s been grooming for a long while. Either way, no. Just. No.” The very thought of being second to Tunon was a disturbing enough on its own.

Iphigenia chuckled, letting out a surprisingly merry laughter. And Ponirya noted with surprise that she looked like she hadn’t laughed in a long while.

“That’s so strange of you. It’s not like you could run away from it, if it happened.”

“I never ran away from a task given to me.”

A flinch that looked almost like pain creased the woman’s face. “Just about.”

And just like that, the mood changed. She looked over to the woman who looked nothing short of sullen. In all the years that she had known her, she had never known her to be cheery type, but this was too much.

“Iphigenia, what is this about?” Ponirya asked and she immediately turned away angrily, attempting to hide her face in the fall of her hair and shrugging her shoulders high defensively.

“Can’t you guess?”

“Oh, I have no problem guessing. I just don’t think it’s relevant enough to bring up a decade later.”

Honestly, this kind of bickering did nothing more than relieve frustration, and then build up tension all over again.

Iphigenia sighed and collapsed back on the narrow bed. The sun was steadily lowering and the cool breeze played with both of their loose strands of hair. It will be nightfall soon, and by then Ponirya should be well on her way.

“I envied you. How you’ve managed to free yourself. How you’ve managed to stay free...”

Is that how it appeared to her? She never felt ‘free’.

Ponirya has always done her best to walk that thin line of not being openly rebellious and not giving in. At times, she was certain that she was being given more freedom than an average fatebinder should have, and it made her awfully suspicions and more cautious – when she wasn’t having a grand ol’ time ‘subverting’ the rules.

“I don’t deny that your training was probably the most demanding in Court, but I remember seeing you run all over the old palace. From Nunoval to Rhogalus, and all the other teachers. He didn’t restrict your movements.”

“Neither did Rhogalus yours. Unless you count all the pregnancies.”

“I agreed to that.” It was a soft reply, but assured.

“You do look like you’ve found your footing with him in the end. You two work well together.”

“I suppose we do. We are alike in many ways.” Iphigenia said with forceful cheer, wiping at her eyes with her knuckles and trying to pick herself back up from her gloom, and Ponirya turned back to look out the window, rolling her eyes sarcastically. “But doesn’t the same go for you?”

Ponirya stayed silent, narrowed eyes barely sliding over the lengthening shadows. She was remembering a laugh – a laugh that shook her down to her bones and she couldn’t seem to forget, and it was making her very… _very_ uncomfortable.

Iphigenia, apparently, took something else from her silence. “Is it because of that falling out? Everyone said he denounced you after what you did to Calio.”

 _‘Is that what they’re calling it?’_ Ponirya let out a mirthless chuckle. “Having a ‘falling out’ with him is not something you’re likely to survive. So, that’s a really... _really_ poor choice of words.”

And honestly, it was a stupid – a monumentally stupid reason. Mark had chastised her, pointing out a myriad of different ways she could’ve gotten back at Calio that had not involved public mutilation upon Tunon’s favourite. That there were so many other, less conspicuous ways she could’ve gone about it… She had overreacted and, despite feeling so very gratifying at that moment, Ponirya had never denied that.

What had happened had no real relevance or impact to him, to herself, to Calio, to anyone else in the whole damn Court! She doubted that Tunon had even noticed it happen. Calio would heal and continue with her work as if nothing had happened. But Mark had to go and make it a big deal. Probably because what she had done had somehow, in the most tangential and three times removed way impacted one of his long-term plans. Or some bet. It could have been as simple as that.

Ponirya’s conclusion – he used the opportunity to put the fear of him back into her. After years of spending time with him, the fear – it wasn’t gone, but it had gone stale. She had gotten too comfortable, too used to him and his ways and he couldn’t allow that.

If she hadn’t been sent to the front lines right then and there...

“Ponirya?” She called. “You seemed lost in thought.”

“I was.” Lost in thought about the last time he had truly scared the life out of her, and promised she would take Calio’s place now that she had the woman stuck in the infirmary and too sore to be having sex with an Archon.

Looking back, and in comparison to everything else that had happened to her since, it was a strange thing to be afraid of. Childish fear, really. But the scars of seeing her sister in the state that she was in, among the Disfavored slaves, ran too deep even now.

What was she to say? What could she say? Anything coming out of her mouth now would hypocritical, at best. She was spared Iphigenia’s fate. Spared what most apprentices went through, as part of the course. In a way, she was spared of what her sister has been sentenced to years back.

For a while, they kept drinking in silence, the late afternoon sun throwing golden rays across the room and their far too long conversation.

“I suppose that as a sleepless you managed to keep his attention long enough.” Iphigenia looked momentarily surprised at her own words, even raising her fingers to her lips.

But across of her, Ponirya was silent and did not move – yet somehow it felt as if her presence in the room had grown. Sun had bathed her form in a warm glow.

“How do you know about that?” The question was a whisper.

“Rhogalus told me,” she said softly and merely tucked the stubborn hair blowing across her eyes behind one ear delicately, shifting where she sat. She was feeling oddly lax.

“That I’m... what? A walking curiosity that can’t sleep.” That was a Court secret know only to... all five of them. Six now. “I wonder how many years of consistent fucking did it take for master Rhogalus to spill that gem.”

Iphigenia flushed, looking thoroughly aghast at her crude choice of words. Her momentary ease vanishing.

“So now you know why I was stuck with Mark for so long. Does the answer satisfy you? Did it change anything knowing that there was no way I’d end up with master Rhogalus?”

“At least now I understand why they let you off the hook all the time.” Iphigenia said haughtily, seemingly not noticing her change in mood, glancing at the youngest fatebinder, and shrugged it off in favour of finally letting out what she believed was a heavy weight on her.

“They let you do as you please. Not Tunon, not Bleden Mark, the others… No one stops you from acting out!” She claimed confidently, head held high in her firmness. “You’re flighty, petty, wilful and impulsive! You do what you want, when you want, no matter the consequences!”

Ponirya didn’t bother looking up from her cup and reached to feel the blades strapped to her side. “I’ve never broken any of the rules.”

“You were never caught!” The other woman all but screeched in fervour. “So you can feed that shit to someone else, but not to me.”

Ponirya’s mouth snapped shut in a tight line. She had never known the older girl to use foul language, even under most stressful of moments, staying quite eloquent most of the time. This wine sure has loosened her lips.

“We’ve been through the academy together. I know how you do things... how you manipulate the odds in your favour! You’re chaos incarnate! If Rhogalus had taken you in as well... I don’t know what I would have done.”

“Is that why you are dipping toxins into his food and drink? Because you don’t want to lose him? Better for him to appear feeble just enough not to be able to carry out an Edict, yet still stay in charge of the Archives.”

“How dare you-...” Iphigenia spat, her knuckles white against the surface of the cup, nails scraping against the wood and heart pounding in her chest.

“Or is it out of spite for all the years under him? How old were you? Sixteen? I think that was your age when I first stumbled onto two of you.”

Hopelessness and exasperation bubbling to a boil inside her chest, Iphigenia collapsed back onto the bed behind her, as she dropped her head into her hands and dug her fingers into her loose hair. The world has started going pear-shaped a while now. Too bright, too dark. It hurt to think.

“Or perhaps you hope for his position? You’ve said it best – your family did not send you to the Court just so you can bear the most gifted of children. You are to be something more, and if master Rhogalus retired due to illness-...”

“It was me in exchange for them keeping their station in society!” Iphigenia hissed, looking up with wide, red eyes. She didn’t cry though. Maybe she had no tears left. “They didn’t ask me! No one asked if wanted this! If I could live through this-...!” Those words sent her mind reeling and her tongue curling itself into a knot.

Ponirya interrupted her numbly, “Iphigenia? The baby… are you-…?”

Not one. Many.

“NO!” She jumped to her feet, nearly toppled onto the floor, with how violently she jerked in her surprise, tearing herself away from the bed she was sitting on, wooden cup nearly slipping from her fingers and remains of her wine sloshing over in an arc “Don’t you dare say that! Don’t dare even think that!”

Silently, Ponirya stood up, taking the wineskin back from her. She didn’t _blame_ Iphigenia for what she was trying to do. Trying to find what little happiness she could in this life was not something to be mocked. It’s what all of them have been trying to achieve in different ways.

That didn’t change _what_ Iphigenia did. And what she did made Ponirya very, _utterly livid_.

“Let’s talk about those luxuries and getting off easy.” There was something about her voice that made Iphigenia, even in her confusion, mania and encroaching darkness, pause... Seriousness. Ponirya was not joking, or making light of the situation. “Remember that time you passed out when your leg was broken? When you spent the next few days unconscious?”

Iphigenia was now barely managing to stand on her feet and Ponirya walked around her to place the now empty wineskin back in her bag.

“You might think it’s a small thing compared to what you went through, and I don’t blame you. No one really _knows_ what it does to someone to not be able to sleep through the pain. Through stitches and surgeries? Feeling as each scrap of skin heals and mends?” She continued, softly and in the darkening room it looked as if her own form was slowly shifting in and out of shadows. Or maybe it was just Iphigenia’s eyes that were playing tricks on her.

“I stayed awake through every _intervention_ , every _healing procedure_ and, you can believe me... I had a lot of those over the years, because I don’t think you understand what it means when the Archons of Shadows and Justice decide to hold a class.”

Tunon was as much her teacher as Mark was – in different subjects obviously. Once the basic training with her chief mentors was complete, she was moved to a more rigid regime under the two Archons. For the two immortal creatures who also didn’t sleep, it was like having one of those spinning top toys – except they didn’t have to worry that it’ll fall down after designated amount time. She had both the privilege and the scrutiny as one who was considered a favourite – whether she really was a favourite, was a matter up for debate. Despite all the extra layers of education, it certainly didn’t feel like it.

Finally, she turned around and leaned over the woman struggling to hold on by the narrow wooden bed. “I didn’t get much time off.”

“...wine...cups...” Iphigenia managed as if only now realizing, her head getting heavier and dimmer, darkness gathering around the edge of her eyes. It was too late for her to use her sigils now. Why didn’t she do so earlier?! “...you _poisoned_...”

Ponirya shook her head. “That would be a hassle,” she said softly, face still a mask of indifference.

“...wineskin!” she stumbled forward, wooden cup she was clutching so hard falling from her hand yet Ponirya managed to catch it, still with some wine left at the bottom. “...but... that would mean you too...”

“I did not run around the old keep for the fun of it. There was more for me to deal with than broken bones and an occasional perforated lung. I’ve been drinking these kinds of things for a long time now,” Ponirya shrugged. “And it’s not about getting over the taste, since most of them have none. It became a game of figuring out when the food was poisoned, and with what. You get used to it. You kind of have to.”

Backing away one final time pitifully, the back of her legs hitting the wooden frame, Iphigenia’s vision swirled, black and white spots dancing in front of her eyes. She stumbled, falling to her knees, holding to her head. It hurt and she was sick, wanting to throw up and not being able to.

“I know you’re a fast learner, but books can only take you so far. This one is more serious than the thing you’ve been slipping to master Rhogalus, but with proper dosage, not so much. It does get people talking before... well, you know.”

Losing consciousness Iphigenia had just enough strength to send one final look – a potent combination of rage, fear and desperation – before she collapsed like a ragdoll on the stone floor.

Taking deep even breaths, Ponirya cocked her head, looking over the body. Leaning down she checked for pulse, and naturally, found one. There was no intention to kill the woman. Humiliate her, yes. Scare her shitless, absolutely. Piss her off – she could safely say, that this would do.

Rising to her feet, she moved the sleeping form over to the bed. She should doze it off in a good day or so. Taking Iphigenia’s cup she took a swing, drinking the last of it.

It was time for her to leave.

*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: English is not my native language, therefore expect mistakes and wonky grammar.  
> Disclaimer: Tyranny belongs to Obsidian & Paradox

*

_The Oldwalls are officially off limits, as decreed by the Overlord. Any who are caught trying to explore the area face swift and final punishment._

*

It has been years since Tunon’s judgment, but the Bastard City continued to be a jigsaw of destruction and opulence, with glittering wealth existing side by side with sores of rubble and destruction. Destroyed districts were ruins filled with criminals, monsters, and Bane, while the rest of the city continues to thrive. With the magic-laden scroll safely tucked in her bag, Ponirya made her way towards the south gate of the city, deliberately picking a path through the way one of those abandoned, infested neighbourhoods, where the Bane were like wasps, striking from hidden corners.

The more Bane there were, the less chances there was of encountering the living.

Which – right now with rage lodged in her chest – was fine with her. Being pissed just added to the fumes that were still burning from everything that had happened, not just the culmination of today’s betrayal. From all sides.

This whole thing was beyond unfair and cruel. Even for someone as rigid as Tunon, to have that meeting with her, only to give her a death penalty a few hours later. He was supposed to be more pragmatic and practical than that. And not give into pomp.

But after Iphigenia’s visit, she doubted that any this was simply because of her baiting earlier. It couldn’t be the sense of humour, or irony. Even if the Adjudicator he had the capacity for it – and all the years of ‘debating’ with him, told her the chances of that were very slim indeed – was unlikely to let it get in between him and fulfilling the Overlord’s wish. After all, Kyros was too far away to handpick a Fatebinder to carry its words, unlike a pair of Archons in whose good graces she seemed to stay simply by the virtue of being that damn good at what she did. She wasn’t known as the ‘Problem Child’ of the court for nothing and it was a healthy decision to balance the bad with a whole lot of useful.

Yes, she was certainly a curiosity at the start, but the novelty of it had surly worn off.

She breathed in heavily through her nose, steadying her nerves and cantering her mind, before nodding minutely to herself, set on her course, and came back to reality in time to see non-other than Calio, not too far in front of her and leaning against the wall of a long since ruined house, half-hidden in shadows.

Obviously, there was still room for this day to get worse.

“I had a feeling I might catch you here,” with a noncommittal smile and a casual gesture the woman noted at the ruins, and the corpses in shadows. “In your favourite haunt.” Among all the Bane, yes. Unspoken but true, so Ponirya didn’t bother to answer. Not that it deterred Calio.

Ponirya felt like throwing up. She didn’t even manage to get that far from the palace and already a woman who had ceremoniously handed her the box containing the Edict, with a smile no less, made it her business to track her down. For fun.

“I had some doubts if I’d be able to catch up, seeing how you’ve gloomily tucked the tail between your legs and disappeared.” The woman stepped forward, disturbingly light on her feet and without making a sound.

Ponirya scowled, rolled her eyes and said nothing. Not like there wasn’t truth to that. She was tasked with proclaiming a second Edict in the span of a year. The last thing she was going to be was _just fine_.

And precisely because of it, she didn’t have to stand here talking to her. She could walk away and there was really nothing Calio could do about it. She supposed she should have suspected that she would continue to follow her, given how persistent she seemed to be, but her catching up to her in a few strides, and then falling into step beside her brought a dark look to Ponirya’s gaze that Calio only snorted at, almost infuriatingly untroubled by her attempt to avoid her.

Ponirya sighed, her shoulders dropping. Well, so much for a dignified retreat.

“It never ceases to surprise me how easy it is for you to march through places like this. It’s almost like you’re expecting something nefarious to happen.” The Fatebinder of Balance said cheerily as she slid her hands into her pockets.

“It’s a good place if you want something interesting to report.”

“And what would I want to report? An attempted murder?” Her grin was almost unsettling in its smugness, its expectant assurance.

She continued, shrugging her shoulders to settle her belt with the pin marking her rank, up better across her willowy build and gesturing towards the rocky alley behind the old shack of a store (and brave man he was to set it up at the outskirts of the sinkhole) across the street, dotted with garbage and abandoned barrels and leaning torch posts. And Ponirya, casting it a single, disparaging look, looked back at the senior fatebinder flatly.

“Exactly. No one to see anything. Just how people disappear and end up at the bottom of the old pits in bags or in claws of gaudy coloured spirits,” she said sullenly, unamused and raising a brow just a little bit, and Calio, letting out a small, affronted gasp, had the decency to look astonished by her comment.

“Now why would you say that? I have half a mind to be offended,” she pouted, scraping a hand through her own hair to smooth it back away from her face.

“The other half knows I’m right not to trust you, Calio.”

She met her grim expression with feigned shock for a moment, holding a hand to her chest even, but abandoned it a moment later with a snort and a shrug, accompanied with a snide, oily smirk, complete with a grin full of teeth that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the face of a hungry beast. Truly, Mark and Calio were tailor-made for each other. She knocked her shoulder against hers, and Ponirya had to resist the urge to punch her square in the jaw with all her might. Given what happened the last time she had done something like that – not a good idea.

“You’re breaking my heart, really you are. But fair’s fair.”

That was the whole point of her intercepting her here. The better to not be overheard.

Highly competent when it came to collecting information, especially when it came to Archon-related gossip, it didn’t need to be said that under that smile, Calio was not a very nice person. But the same could be said for _everyone_ in the Court.

Ponirya, utterly done with the woman at this point, didn’t even bother trying to respond and only waved her hands at her before stomping around her and in an effort be on her way, but Calio easily fell in step with her once more as they traversed the broken streets of a broken districts. The night was clear and so it was not as pitch black as it could’ve been, allowing them not to walk into pits, trenches and collapsed roads. And although they could hear shuffling, they’ve not seen a living soul. They’ve not seen any magebane either, so that was good.

“I’ve got to say, interesting work you did with Iphigenia.”

“I have no idea what you’re implying.”

“Oh, come now. Surely you knew I’d be checking in on the incident.”

Yes, for the body. If there was one. Which there wasn’t. And Iphigenia was still fast asleep and unable to report a damn thing.

“It is a good thing no one got permanently hurt.”

Right. As if she’d put in a wrong dose.

“I’ve got to ask if it was a payback for that fascinating match this morning?” Calio started, sounding almost bored.

“Why would there need to be payback for what was a boring, mild and passable match?”

“Boring, mild, passable... hah! Why were you holding back then?”

Ponirya shot her a glare. “It was a just morning sparring. A little exercise before breakfast.”

“I recall your ‘sparring matches’ and ‘exercises’ being a lot more brutal. My ever shortening list of students can attest to that.”

Apparently, not killing your partner during morning training hour counted as ‘holding back’ now. But, Calio wasn’t making light of things. Back in the day, not many got around having breakfast afterwards. Ever again.

“It was... expected at the time,” Ponirya muttered unhappily.

He had expected it from her.

A young woman could not match a grown man in raw strength. She was no Archon to overcome an armoured soldier with ease. There were ways to cripple, to outsmart, to outlive your opponent – and those ways were drilled into her. Painfully so, at times. When she was ordered to spar with the rest of novices, the training grounds were, more often than not, covered in red.

It served her well on the front lines. An annoyingly large number of lessons from the Court served her well. It was almost as if they actually trained her to be capable.

“If Iphigenia were the reason you’re here, this conversation would be heading in a very different direction.”

“Prompt execution, you mean?” The woman allowed through her muted laughter, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders.

“I mean ‘someone’s’ and ‘not mine.’”

What Iphigenia said managed to piss her off in ways she had not expected. Ensnared and unable to escape the situation because of her little game, becoming a prime candidate for proclamation because of her actions... It was not her way of solving problems or how she liked to deal with issues, but in this case only the rule that one shall not murder within the ‘family’ that kept her from taking a more drastic step. Unless you’re either Mark or Calio – they got to indulge in fratricide.

“I’m surprised that either you or master Rhogalus allowed it to go on for so long.”

Honestly how long could it have been going on? Not long. When she first heard of the Edict? And only sparingly, just enough to make him look too sick to carry out a proclamation. But if she managed to notice it in one afternoon, then there was no way others didn’t.

Calio let out a soft hum. “It’s Rhogalus’ family drama to deal with. In the end – no one got hurt, no one died, and there’s nothing to judge.” Another grin creased her features. “You know how things can get between master and their apprentice.”

She had a feeling that Calio had overheard more of her and Ipheginaya’s conversation outside her chambers than she was letting on, but had little to dissuade her and her impressions (it wasn't as though she wasn't distracted because of her, after all, and protesting the reasoning would only make her seem more implicit), and so let her think as she wanted, doing her best to keep her rage bottled while making her way towards the south gate.

Calio kept an easy pace with, bright and mysterious smile splattered all over her face. Now, Ponirya never really liked speaking to Calio, often resorting to silent glares to convey her opinion. And somehow, Calio was inhumanly adept enough to understand exactly what she was saying. It was infuriating at times, but Calio was not named Fatebinder of Balance for nothing and she cheerfully continued, easily falling in step with her.

“Now, with that gloomy talk out of the way, I trust you’re all packed up? The road there shouldn’t be all too difficult. If I remember the map, you’ll be going through Edgering ruins to reach the main camp?”

 _‘If it’s not raised to the ground by then,’_ she thought silently. And how she hoped it was.

“Dark mountain pass, with a skull-faced statue that weeps blood right at the entrance into the valley – I have to say, I’ve got a good feeling about this bet.”

“Seriously? A dead pool already?” Ponirya stopped to glare momentarily at the taller woman, before moving on with a shake of her head. Well, it looked like her adoptive family was engrossed in her life just enough to be betting on the time her death. “Good to know you two will find some amusement and rings in my death.” Because there was no doubt who was the ringleader of this wager.

“Certainly not! I’ll be grief-stricken if you end up dying.” There was a bright grin splattered all over that beautiful face.

“And with fewer rings in your pockets.”

“You can see now why I’m counting on you.” There was a small, secret smile in the corner of her lips.

“I’m glad you’re feeling so optimistic about my chances.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. You always had a knack for surviving the worst of brunt thrown at you.”

“There’s something about staying alive. Shocking, I know. Makes me wonder if I should have stayed away long enough not to be the one chosen for this.” Unwittingly Ponirya’s eyes fell to her bag, where the Edict was.

“Ah!” Calio sighed loudly, too loudly for this dangerous place, and threw her hands in the air dramatically. She must be feeling confident. “You’re agonizing over a question that has no answer you want to hear. Does it _have_ to be anything concrete?  Tunon’s disapproval? Iphigenia’s meddling? The truth is, you’re still the youngest of us and thus, most likely to survive.” Ponirya kept glaring at her, though, an errant breeze blowing a strand of pale gold hair across her narrowed gaze, and Calio let out a disbelieving scoff. “Yes, the fact that you’re familiar with both Archons of War and Secrets, their armies and their animosities, doesn’t hurt either.”

Sad and true. No other fatebinder has been anointed since her. Tunon wouldn’t risk promoting an unskilled apprentice to a full rank even in dire circumstances of being short on staff.

“So I’m only _mostly_ expendable.”

“It’s tough to argue with the fact that the rest of us in the Tiers serve a specific purpose.”

Ponirya tsked, “And you wonder why I never liked you.”

“Not from the moment I’ve brought you in. I remember you throwing a fuss even then. You even tried to stab me,” she added with a dramatic cadence to her voice.

“Did I inconvenience you? I’m sorry, but seeing my parents hanging corpses threw me for a loop.” Ponirya shot the fatebinder of Balance a scathing glare just as she stormed off down the broken alley.

“And mine sold me,” Calio shrugged with an easy tone following. “You know we can go on forever like this.”

They could. Because the Court was filled with broken people.

“Yeah, I know.”

“It turned out well enough in the end. As you can see, I have nothing to complain about. We have better luck than most – like people who got stuck in tiny, filthy hovels in one of the seedier parts of city. Our lives could’ve ended then and there.”

From high up in the palace it was easy to see that being a fatebinder has its perks, even with all the shit that went with it. Kyros did provide for the loyal, but after such a long time in the field… well, if Ponirya didn’t have a favourable opinion on Kyros before (and she didn’t), it certainly didn’t improve after years of being on the front lines. But such thoughts were best kept private.

“Is there any other reason you’ve decided to track me down? Besides reminding me to stay alive for your betting purposes.”

As if she was waiting for this opportunity, Calio reached over, settling an arm around her shoulder, “As your sworn enemy, I refuse to leave you without saying proper farewell.”

And Ponirya removed the offending hand from her shoulder without missing a beat. So used she was to this woman invading her personal space. “We’ve met already, remember? You’ve handed me the _Edict_.”

“Oh, that was in official capacity and does not count,” she waved her remark away, like an annoying fly. Or maybe it was a real one. At passing breeze Ponirya’s nose wrinkled, her face lowering and her lips thinning in meditative thought. There were a lot of bodies around them, even if out of sight.

“I suppose I’ve managed to meet with both Nunoval and Roghalus in the same day. Not running into you would probably violate some of Kyros’ obscure laws I’m not familiar with.”

Calio laughed, openly and vivaciously as she hurried to keep up with her. “You should’ve met with others, as well. A lot of old faces would’ve liked to say goodbye.”

And how many of them are in on the bet?

“In between getting a room and being saddled with an Edict, I didn’t get much time to socialize.”

“True. Ever since the refurbishing of the castle getting a descent room is near impossible.”

“At least it’s one you two aren’t commandeering anymore.”

“We aren’t? Now, whoever said that? Is there a dirty liar in the Court I need to track down?” Calio chuckled, casting the younger woman a side eye that would have made a stone wall sweat.

The implication on what she was sleeping on, even if only for two days… Halting her step, Ponirya grew increasingly silent, eyes going blank. “And suddenly, I am very thankful that this proclamation is happening. With little luck, it will be the end of my miserable existence.”

Calio seemed to be amused by Ponirya’s constant and consistent refusal. Even now, at the edge of the city, on her way to certain death, she was eyeing her with certain kind of want.

“I’m not interested, Calio. Not then, not now. Or was one broken shoulder not a hint enough?” There was something dark in Ponirya’s eye for a fleeting moment, though, something angry and spurned that glittered in dire menace,

“It was clear,” the older woman said, previous desire all hidden behind another oily smile the very next second, behind a chortle and a shrug that made her wonder if it had really ever been there at all. What followed was probably the longest span of silence since she encountered the woman. They were getting closer to the south gate. Just little bit more and they will be out of the desolate, dead zone.

It felt like the trip through it lasted longer than it actually did.

“Have you spoken to the old shadow at least?” Calio asked, her voice had not losing even a hint of its good mood.

No. And no. And fuck no.

That was one conversation she was hoping to postpone for a bit longer. A lot longer. Right until he finds something new to play with. Calio seemed to have figured as much.

“You’re just being deliberately unkind. And after everything he has done for you. He’ll go on and think you don’t care-...”

“He’s betting on me dying!”

“Not to mention that you’re putting me in the position to vouch for him – which is doubly unkind.” Calio ignored her, merrily continuing on.

“Please, I can deal with only one disgruntled father figure at the time. A day full of Tunon is too much already-...”

There was a long pause from Calio, as if she was in deep concentration, mulling over a crucial piece of information.

“Not sure if he’d like being called that. Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

“...for fucks sake Calio! Why is everything either death or sex with the two of you-...”

Sudden screech interrupted them and Calio in a flash pulled back, disappearing into the shadows just in time when a red fog crawled from between the ruins and collapse stones. Red like rage and blood, a Scourge. The most common – and aggressive – of the Bane, these vicious creatures usually travel in swarms, surrounding their prey with whirlwinds of tearing claws. Entire villages have been wiped out by a single pack of Scourge. Seeing one meant others were around as well.

They were lucky these things haven’t shown up earlier with all the commotion they were causing.

And no sane person would stick around when they start showing up. It was smart of Calio to disappear. Not Ponirya though. She glanced at the spot where Calio was just a moment ago, before looking at the red cloud of claws and teeth, and its quick, mesmerising movements as it approached her. Not with caution, these creatures were hunters but had little in way of self-preservation.

Not that it mattered to Ponirya. The scourge approached her ‘sniffing’ the air and magic around her, but finding none of what it would draw its hunger. These creatures were familiar to her, and she raised her hand – not to touch or pet it – you just don’t do that. Instead the creature reached forward wrapping its clawed hands around her forearm, sinking its teeth into her vambrace, holding it there. Tasting it. Deciding if she was ‘edible’.

Finally deciding that she didn’t have what it wanted, the creature detached itself from her, and losing any further interest floated away in search for something tastier. She looked down at her leather and bronze armour around her forearm. Sure thing, there were corrosive dents in it.

Eh, at least it wasn’t fully damaged. Knowing full well what these creatures were capable of, this bit of nibbling was nothing.

“I’ve got to say, seeing you do that never gets old.”

“It does for some,” Ponirya whispered, and following her words another inhuman screech followed and in between, gargled noises of a human being torn apart. A pack of them must have ambushed a squatter. This was how she had killed many in her childhood – luring them away to the depths of the Oldwalls, where her safety was assured but others’ was not. It was her role in her little family of grave robbers, thieves and smugglers.

Even Calio, unfairly capable as she was, knew better than to fool around in the area crawling with Magebane. But Ponirya could cuddle up to Bane – and that, along with other irregularities that should have marked the end of her life, her _very sanity_ , long ago, made her the single, most interesting thing in the Court for two Archons to play with.

Past tense now.

“Take care, Calio. I really hope not to see you anytime soon,” Ponirya waved to the figure concealed in shadows, as she walked towards the rage-filled red cloud of claws and teeth.

*

The moons, Terratus Grave and the rapidly orbiting Interlope, shone bright on a clear sky when Ponirya stopped her track just long enough to look back at Bastard city. Not out of any feeling of sentiment, but rather strangeness that seemed to be following her, long since before the conquest of Tiers even begun.

For a year they’ve been hammering her with missives. Hounding her to return to the city, and now that she has… How long was she back – two days, at best? It wasn’t often that her estimates turned out to be wrong, but now they did. The Court was not going to demote her to street duty. No, they were sending her away.

To die.

She had survived the war, and she had survived the proclamation of the Edict of Fire, and while Calio had proclaimed more than one Edict and lived through it hale and hearty... this? No one expected her to live through this one.

So much for being a prized pupil.

She rubbed her thumb across the simple stone and rope bracelet tucked firmly under her right vambrace – safe, and out of sight. Oldwalls stones. Family trinkets. All that was left of her _true_ family.

Survival.

That’s what her knowledge of the Oldwalls and luring Bane had brought her. Survival at the expense of great many things.

Though she had never fully overcome her desire to revenge herself for what they did to her family, on her parents’ murderers, on her sister’s slavers, she did manage to curb it down enough not to fly straight into the mouth of certain death. And truth to be told, even if she did that… even if she were to slaughter every single living being in the whole of the Court – and then some – none of it would bring them back. Or right other wrongs. It was a messy, ruined world. It had messed her up, killed her mother and father and it had broken her sister. And no amount of blood could glue it back together. And she went with it all because that’s what survivors do.

It was a bitter, bitter taste of reality permanently lodged in her throat.

Bitterness that was now climbing right back up. She felt sick. They’ve taken everything from her, shaped her in what they needed her to be, and now they were casting her away – like a faulty tool. And here she thought Iphigenia was overreacting over Rhogalus.

Something inside her, though, that same something that always held up her in her lowest times, rose at that moment to push her onward, reminding her of her training, and her resolve to see this through to whatever end.

And if she had anything to say about it – not her own.

Giving the towering palace one final look, Ponirya headed south, towards Edgering ruins and the Vendrien’s Well.

Strange as it was, all this also gave her a measure of peace, as if great burden, a fog, has been lifted from her mind. Like she could think clearly for the first time, and make a decision she wanted but was too afraid to, for over a decade. What they’ve done now, casting her out... throwing her away... It felt personal in a way it never did before. No more pulling against the chain.

This was an act of war.

*

**Fin**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've split some of the chapters for better flow, and went through them with a fine-toothed comb. It still might not be perfect, though, and I apologize for that.  
> I will see if and when and how I'll continue the story.
> 
> Thank you all for reading.


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